


Thus Will Shine the Dawn

by otakuashels, Shuriken7



Series: A Collision of Worlds [10]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Developing Relationship, Drama, Drama & Romance, Established Relationship, Historical, Historical Hetalia, Historical References, Lemon, Love, M/M, Romance, Secrets, Sex, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2020-06-26 16:41:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 130,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19772245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otakuashels/pseuds/otakuashels, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shuriken7/pseuds/Shuriken7
Summary: 5th Book in A Collision of Worlds Series chronicling the relationship between England and America throughout history.***England stands alone. He tells himself that he doesn't need *him*, doesn't want him. But as the calamities pile on top of him, how long until he breaks?As a second great war looms before them, England and America face not only an uncertain future for the world, but also an uncertain future with each other. As World War II rocks the very fabric of nations across the globe, will they be able to weather the storm? As the roles change, is what they feel in their hearts strong enough to survive what is to come.





	1. A Dark Night of the Soul

_October 21, 1939_

_London, England_

“So much has happened in less than a year here in London.” Canada stared out the window and into the courtyard below England’s office. The scratching of England’s pen against paper stilled as he leaned back, his thoughts catching a rabbit trail at the comment.

“You’re right, a lot has happened.” 

“In February, the first Anderson shelter is built in London. In March, you pledged to support to Poland in the event of an invasion.” Canada began to tick things off on his fingers. “In April, the Royal Armoured Corps is formed, the Women's Royal Naval Service is re-established, the Military Training Act introduced conscription; men aged 20 and 21 must undertake six months military training...”

“And then in George VI and Queen Elizabeth came to visit me in the first-ever visit to Canada by a reigning British sovereign. In July, the Women's Land Army re-formed to work in agriculture. The Pan American Airways Boeing 314 flying boat Yankee Clipper inaugurates the world's first heavier-than-air North Atlantic air passenger service between the United States and Britain...” Canada paused on that bit of news. England knew that America hadn’t been able to stop talking about it. He had the invitation in his desk. Unanswered.

Canada continued, “Then in August through September most paintings were evacuated from the National Gallery in London to Wales. Then you did manage to get Alfred to end the arms embargo on selling France and England is ended when the Neutrality Acts were amended...”

“Then just four days ago there was that bomb at Orkney,” England finished with a shake of his head.

“Everyone seems to be on some sort of edge today. I popped out into town for a walk and everyone was rather off.”

“It’s because today is when all men ages twenty to twenty-three are being forced to sign up today for national service.” England looked back to his papers.

“Really?” Canada looked away from the window. “You’re already instituting a draft?”

“We have no choice. Better safe than sorry.” England sighed, pulling his glasses off and pinching at his nose. “Things are so up in the air right now. Just eleven days ago the Polish resistance ended and now we are in some bollocks they are calling the ‘Phoney War.’” 

“Well that is a rather odd name.”

“Alfred’s newspapermen seem so fond of it, they have mine using it now. It’s because there has been no armed conflict as of yet and there are no signs for there to be any. Right now Francis and I are preparing for large scale conflict for when it comes to that. But for now it is time to focus on economic warfare and the conscription is part of it.”

“And what then?” Canada dropped onto the chair across from him.

“Well,” England sighed. “If nothing happens by November then we have made plans to start to bring the children back into London.” He smiled at the thought. “Hopefully, Hitler has realized just how bloody stupid he is being. We will reopen up the schools and things can go back to normal.”

“Hopefully. I’m sure they’d like to see their families again,” Canada said. His face looked a little wary, but England could tell he wanted to hope as much as he did.

“We can be carefully optimistic.”

Canada nodded. “What does Francis think?”

“He’s wary.”

“He thinks they’ll come for him first. He’s closest.” Canada looked away, glancing at the window. He frowned. “That’s what he said to me anyway. Arthur, I remember last time, the last war... how hurt he was...”

“Leaving personal feelings and jabs aside, he is right. He is weak in comparison. If this escalates the Germans will attack France as a weak spot. It's the strategic thing to do. But Matthew, I promise you I will do everything in my power to stop Ludwig.”

“I know.” Canada offered him a half-hearted smile that he clearly didn’t feel. “I, well... I spoke to Alfred...”

England's fingers twitched over his papers. “Well, that's good to hear.”

“You’re not angry?”

“Why would I be angry?”

“After... well, it’s none of my business. Anyway, he told me that I’ll be able to bring some things to you soon. They are finalizing the changes to his neutrality laws.”

“Oh, is he?” England kept his tone light, fingers curled around his pen.

“I think he does want to help... I’m sorry I brought it up.” He reached across the desk, resting his hand gently on England’s arm.

“It’s fine.”

“I’m recruiting. There should be trained men if we need them.” He pulled back his hand and looked down at the desk.

“Hopefully we won't.” England stared at the desk, struggling over the question that he felt he shouldn’t ask. “How... how is he?”

“It’s hard to tell... I think he’s frustrated. He feels the pressure of the situation. He knows everyone is watching him.”

“Well, that's to be expected.” England swallowed. “But he is okay otherwise?” He couldn't ask the question he wanted. Had America asked about him?.

“He’s being secretive,” Canada shrugged. “The FBI has been patrolling my border.”

England snorted at the irony. The fact that they had spies being trained in Canada made the whole situation that much more amusing.

“What?” Canada asked. When England wasn’t forthcoming, he continued. “It’s illegal for his people to join other armies, it’s not stopping some.”

“Americans never have been very good at listening.”

“Always have to be rebelling against something, even their own rules.” Canada chuckled quietly.

“But he's fine otherwise?”

“His economy seems to be in recovery. He’s fine, Arthur. Focused.”

“Well, that's good. Can’t have nations falling sick now can we?” England heaved a sigh of relief. 

Canada looked up at him. “Do you want me to tell him you asked after him?”

“No!” England straightened “Absolutely not!” It would seem suspicious. After their fight it would seem odd.

Canada’s eyes widened, but he gave a silent nod. He reached forward to move some of the papers on England’s desk. “Can I help you with some of this?”

“No, no, it's fine.” England looked towards the clock. “You could go greet the Frog for me. He is supposed to arrive sometime soon.”

“When is your meeting?”

“What meeting?”

“I assumed you wanted to speak with him today.” A flush spread across Canada’s face. “I must have been mistaken.”

“No. I didn't tell him to come and keep me busy. I asked him to come keep you busy so that your nervous fretting would be at bay.”

“Arthur!” Canada covered up his face with his hands. “I’m not... it’s not...” 

England propped his chin in his hand with a sigh. “Exactly.”

“I’m not that bad am I?”

“Don't even get me started.” England grinned.

“I am leaving before you can further imply anything.” Canada stood up, cheeks pink. He hesitated for a moment and then walked around the desk and gave England a hug. “If you need me, I’m not far.”

“I wasn't insinuating anything.” England's nose wrinkled and he hugged the boy back. “I just don't want to deal with the Frog.”

“I’m sure you weren’t.” Canada chuckled and headed back out towards the door. “I’ll see you for tea?”

“And training.” England slipped his glasses back onto his nose.

“Yes.” Canada pulled the door closed behind him.

***

_8 January 1940_

_Washington D.C., United States_

“Alfred.” Canada poked his head into America’s study in the White House. It was a disaster. As always. He searched for his brother before noticing the pair of socked feet hanging over the edge of a couch arm. “Alfred,” he repeated, stepping inside. This wouldn’t be the first time that he found his brother sleeping or hiding away where others wouldn’t expect to find him. Like in his office.

The sound of a newspaper crinkling sounded over the back of the couch. The feet disappeared as America’s disheveled head appeared. “Give me a sec, Matt.”

“Good nap?” He moved to peer at some of the teetering stacks of books.

“I was reading.” The newspaper was hastily shoved out of Canada’s view. “You should really pick up the phone and call me, you know.”

“Why? Am I not allowed to visit anymore?” Canada walked over, leaning on the back of the couch to peer at his twin.

“I’m pretty sure that’s what you were told. Or are you declaring actual independence?” America teased. “I support you in any rebellions.”

“Arthur said I could come. I think it's his way of checking up on you.” Canada shrugged 

“And here I was hoping you’d seen the light.” The tease was still in his voice, but then his brow furrowed. “Arthur asked about me?”

“I didn't say that.”

America tucked the edge of the paper he’d stuffed under the pillow further out of sight. “Well, did he?”

“Possibly.”

America reached over the back of the couch and grabbed his brother in what was half-hug, half-headlock. “C’mon, Matt.”

“I can’t say!” Canada whined.

“I don’t know if I should take that as a yes or no.” He released Canada after a few more struggles. “The phoney war... what’s going on with that? Why hasn’t he done anything?”

With a frown Canada rubbed at the back of his neck. “They are waiting on Ludwig to make the first move.”

“The move was made! I thought that’s why he declared war.” America got up from the couch and paced over to his desk. “If he’s waiting for me he needs to say so.”

“I don’t think that's the case.”

“I wouldn’t wait. If I was at war I’d punch the other guy right in the face.” America turned around and leaned against his desk with his arms crossed. “He really didn’t ask about me?”

“I didn’t say that he didn’t.” Matthew shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away.

“What did you say?”

“I haven't admitted to anything,” Matthew huffed, growing irritated with the, what he perceived, was a stupid question. He wished he could tell America that England had and tell him what England had told France!

“Fine.” America leaned up and walked around the desk and dropped into the chair. “I’m working on some stuff to send over. I read in the papers that he’s worried about being cutoff and he’s rationing. The u-boats won’t dare touch my ships, Ludwig knows what would happen.”

“I wish he would stop rationing so harshly,” Canada muttered.

“So, food.” America picked up a pencil lying on his desk and grabbed a piece of paper with notes scribbled all over it. “Crap... I’ll have to see if I can send it over in mine. Unless... Matt if I drop stuff at the border could you take it? At least until my boss and the guys in Washington get lend lease figured out?”

“I don't see why not. Maybe he will start eating again.”

“He’s not eating?” America looked up at him, worry clear on his face.

“No, you know how he gets when he is in a war.” Canada sighed.

“Then it takes him years to recover because he’s got himself all messed up.” America leaned on the desk and ran his hands through his hair. “Stubborn ass.”

A smile edged up on Canada's mouth. “Should I tell him that you asked after him?”

“No, because I’m not just doing this for him. It’s the right thing to do.” America sighed. “I’ll just argue with him if we talk.”

Canada rolled his eyes. “Francis is right you are an idiot.”

“Francis should be worrying about Ludwig and Feliciano with a few screws loose instead of me. I’m not an ally, remember?” America made a face, gesturing at the piles of papers on his desk. “If things change... it’s gonna be rough.”

“We are fully aware, Alfred.”

“I know.” America frowned, stretching his arms against the desk and sighing. “I hate this.”

“Nobody likes war.” Canada let his head drop back.

“I don’t think that’s true. But I mean... I... you can’t tell Arthur anything.”

Canada eyed him. “How am I to explain the supplies? I won't lie to him, Alfred. I won't break that trust.”

“No, not about that. Although he better damn eat it,” America said. “You can’t tell him I was talking about him.”

“Should I tell him you said that. He listens to you more than me.”

“I don’t think he’s listening at all anymore. You know we didn’t exactly part well. I said some things. He did too.” The chair creaked as he leaned back.

“Yes, but now you've both had time to cool down. And you know since you two have well... ended things, maybe there's been a change of heart,” Canada pressed.

America watched the clock on the wall. Did England regret it? Hope flared in his chest. He’d been trying not to think about him as he went about his work, making excuses for why he’d not been communicating. But England hadn’t done anything. America realized it wouldn’t have taken much. A short message. Anything. “No, you can tell him where the aid came from, but forget I said anything. There’s going to be more. That’s all I want you to say.”

Canada glanced back towards the door he had entered. “Well, I'll give you a chance to change your mind after you sleep. After you go back to your rooms. And to your bed.” He stressed the phrasing in his quiet voice.

America shook his head. “Nah, I have to get on a train to Los Angeles tonight. Boss wants me to talk to Kiku, fewer relays if I call him from out there. He’s going radio silence on me.”

“You'll have to go to your room to grab things.”

“One of my boss’s valets took care of it. I’ll just get some coffee on the train.”

“Or you could go check your room.”

“I don’t have time for a nap, Matt. If Kiku keeps doing what he’s doing... I’m trying to make it so you guys don’t have to fight in the Pacific too. I can do that so leave me to it.”

“Just go check your bedroom!”

America looked at him, surprised at the tone. “What’s so important about my room?”

Canadas lips pressed into a thin line and he shook his head.

America frowned. “Spill it.” When Canada didn’t say anything, America stood up. “Did Arthur send me something?”

“I'm not saying anything.”

America got up and grabbed his coat off the rack by the door. “Come on.”

“I'm fine. You don’t need me. I'll be here.”

“You can’t sit in my office.” America tilted his head, holding the door open for Canada. “Confidential papers.”

“Then I shall go with my delegates.” Canada rocked to his feet. “I hope you’re back in time for us to eat together before you leave.”

“We’ll go to the soda fountain, there’s one that has good burgers, too.” America let Canada out of the room and watched him walk down the hall. “See you soon.” He pushed his fedora onto his head and headed out into the street.

“All right.” Canada nodded, turning towards the Canadian embassy. Transporting those roses dipped in gold and accenting the ambrosia and arbutus flowers in the overly large bouquet had been tedious. The blue rose tie clip had been much easier. Canada just hoped that America remembered his flower language.

***

America rushed into his house, expecting a letter. The flowers took him by surprise. He came forward, touching the gilded petal. He searched for a note, but there were no words. He went back to the flowers, looking at them. “You know I never really learned this stuff, Arthur...” He sat down on the bed beside it, looking at the plants.

***

Canada sipped at his Coca-Cola,feet kicking absentmindedly at the bar as he waited for America to arrive. He wasn't sure what he was going to be faced with when he showed.

America slid into the seat beside him. He ordered his own food and was halfway through when he said. “He made you bring that stuff here? When he’s not even eating?”

Canada looked at his tie, looking for the pin. “He said he's too stressed to eat.”

“Yet, he can send me flowers?” America took a large bite of his burger.

Canada heaved a sigh. “I'll let him know you didn't receive the gifts well.”

“Don’t you dare tell him that! I don’t want him to do something stupid.” America took a long drink from his soda. The glass clinked hard against the counter as he put it back. “I don’t want gifts, I want...” He cut himself off with another bite.

“Even with all that meaning?” Canada stared at his brother. England had spent four days pacing back and forth about the bouquet. It had been exhausting watching it all.

“I don’t have it memorized and I couldn’t find the stupid book,” America grumbled through another bite. “Why can’t he just tell things to me straight!?”

Canada heaved a sigh. “If you had paid attention to his lessons rather than staring at his ass you would know what they mean. And you won't talk to him right now, because you’re not comfortable so why would he be?”

“I’m not afraid to talk to him. He... if he’s trying to tell me something he needs to use words. Not some fancy apology from a century ago.”

“I'll let him know.” Canada frowned.

America took a long draw from his drink. “You’ve got an opinion. Spit it out.”

“You,” Canada heaved a sigh. “You were upset that he wasn’t reaching out and now that he is trying to you are upset because it’s not good enough? We both know Arthur trying to do anything emotional outside of anger is not his fortitude and takes quite a lot of effort.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t good enough. I don’t...” America frowned down at his empty plate. “I don’t want some flowers. I’d rather have him, but he doesn’t want me.” He pushed his plate forward and asked for another when the counter staff came to take it.

“You are impossible.” Canada heaved a sigh and turned, digging into his book bag. “I knew I was going to have to bring a book on flower language. Arthur was so positive you wouldn’t have completely forgotten your lessons so I guess I do know you better.” 

America huffed, but took the book anyway. He flipped through the pages, reading through the passages on the flowers while his next burger arrived. Roses for romantic love and enduring passion. Ambrosia for love returned. Arbutus, “I love only thee.” America took a few bites as he finished reading and slid the book back across the counter. “Why can’t he just fucking say it?” he asked under his breath.

“Alfred, he’s trying. It took me years to finally say the words out loud to Francis. We aren’t all as brash and bullheaded as you.”

“Yeah, but Francis also just tells you what he thinks. Constantly. You didn’t have to worry about his feelings. If anything he was probably worrying about yours.” America took a big bite of the new meal. “What does he want?”

“What do you mean?”

“What does Arthur want me to do? Does he expect I’ll come running back now? This was... I get that he’s trying to tell me something, but it works a lot better in person. And if he’s just doing this so I’ll send him aid, that was never a question.”

“Do you even know what those flowers mean? Did you actually look it up or did you just flip through and give up?”

“Roses are romantic. I didn’t have to look that one up... And I did read it. It feels like a show this way. I’m not gonna swoon like in the movies.” America ran his fingers through his hair. “You know what, tell him you didn’t see me after I saw it. I’ll send him a telegram.”

“I guess that’s your choice. Just be careful right now, Alfred, for both your sakes. He’s super vulnerable and it took him weeks to get up the courage to even do this. ”

“Do you think it would be better if I called him? It’d have to be after I got back from LA.”

“I’m not sure to be honest.” Canada shook his head. “Maybe... I don’t know.”

“Why does he have to be so stubborn?”

“Why did you fall for someone so stubborn?” 

“Because I can’t remember a time when I didn’t love him. He’s Arthur, Matt. Even when I hated him, I still loved him. There was never anybody else for me.” America looked down at his plate. “He didn’t go after someone else, right? Because we broke up?”

“I won’t tell him that you asked that.” Canada shook his head.

“I was asking you.”

“Not that I know of, no. Depends on if you listen to the rumors.”

“What rumors?”

“There have been whispers that Arthur has taken some nations back into his bed after you two split. I wouldn't believe them for a second.”

“I hope you’re right.” America pushed a fry around on his plate before picking it up and eating it.

“There is no way that he took back Vicente or brought Jett into his bed.”

“I’d expect the Kiwi before Aussie. How do you know he’s not sleeping with Vicente?”

“You’re not making any sense. Why would you even ask that?” Canada frowned.

***

“Matt, you didn’t hear what he said to me.” America rubbed at a spot on the counter with his finger. He didn’t know how much he wanted to reveal to his brother. Canada wasn’t in it. “He hurt me, Matt. It’s gonna take more than a show.”

“I know, Alfred. But I know how much not being with him hurts you too. That's why I want you to consider things. So that you don't have to hurt as bad.” He touched his arm.

“Don’t worry about me. We’ve done worse to each other.” America shrugged. “He needs to stay focused. I’ve got his back as much as I can.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I’ll wing it.” America looked up at the clock. “I better get going soon. Take care of him, Matt.”

“That's what he said.”

“What?”

“He asked me to take care of you.”

“That jerk.” There wasn’t any harshness in his voice and it was said with a small turn of his mouth.

“What?”

“It’s always easier for him to say things to you.”

“Of course it is.” Canada sighed. “It always has been.”

“I know. Just saying. I gotta go.” America pulled money out of his pocket, paying for their food.

“Alfred...” Canada stopped and nodded. He could only do so much. This was between the two of them.

“See you later.” America gave his brother a pat on the shoulder. “If the war goes hot. Watch out for yourself.”

“You too, Al.”

***

_March 1940_

_London, England_

“He came,” England muttered staring at the papers on his desk. What was he supposed to do? He hadn't heard a single thing from America yet. That wasn't a good thing. He swallowed as he heard footsteps in the hall. _Shit, shit._

The steps stopped outside the door, the person clearly hesitating. Then a knock.

“You may enter.” _Good, my voice is steady. I can do this._

The door opened and America stepped through. He stopped in the doorway for a moment, then came the rest of the way. He didn’t close the door. “Thanks for meeting with me today.” Formal. Far more formal than things had been between them in England’s recent memory.

“Of course. Our nations are on amicable terms after all.” His fingers curled under the desk, focusing on each precise deliverance of words.

“I want to help negotiate peace if you think it’s possible. Maybe we can still stop this thing before it gets out of hand.”

“One can hope.” He glanced to the door. “I'm having tea sent up perhaps you'd like to join me?”

America looked at him, their eyes meeting. “If you want.”

“Only if you want to.” England clutched at his knees.

“All right then. As long as there are cookies.” America gave him a small smile.

“Yes, there will be biscuits.” England sighed, then stiffened. The correction. It had been automatic. Easy.

The smile was still there, but America wasn’t looking at him now. It was if he found the spot on the wall behind England’s head more interesting. “So, here or...?”

“Unless you want it somewhere else. I could have it moved.” England stood up, staying behind the desk.

“No, here’s fine.” America looked at him, the small smile fading when he saw how baggy England’s clothes had become. “Matt told me... I can send more food if you’re not getting enough. It’s a little tricky with the rules, but there’s charities and...” His voice began to quiver and he stopped talking.

“No, no we’re fine, I well... thank you.” England shook his head, eyes darting to his calendar. Meat rationing had started on the 11th. It was an important thing to discuss but he wanted to talk about other things. About the flowers. His eyes flicked up to America’s tie. He wasn’t wearing the clip. The rattling of the tea cart punctuated the silence and Andrew pushed it into the room, the scent of coffee and tea blooming into the air as he brought it.

America took his time measuring out the cream and sugar into his coffee before turning back to England. “Of course.” The spoon clinked loudly against the glass.

“How long is the undersecretary here?” England asked quickly to avoid another silence. He took the pre-poured cup of tea from Andrew and dismissed the man before moving to settle into the armchair next to the couch, he almost curled into the seat as if preparing to cozy up but remembered the situation.

America turned, watching him. “Depends on if we’re negotiating peace or not. If yes, then however long it takes. If not, then I expect we’ll go back.”

“That makes sense.” He focused on his tea, watching the curls of steam rather than focusing on the silence again. This used to be a comfortable silence. “If you do that, you’ll just be seen as meddling.” England nearly bit his tongue at the comment that had welled up unbidden.

America walked over, sitting down in the chair beside him, clearly ignoring what he’d said. He fiddled with the coffee cup. “How are you?”

“I'm fine.” He smiled reassuringly, glad he had a handmaid's put makeup on him. The dark circles on his eyes and the cut of his cheek bones had become a topic of unwanted conversation in his opinion.

“What else do you need? I talked to my ambassador, but Kennedy didn’t have much to say that was helpful.”

“Nothing, I think I have it.” England nodded, this was painful. He wasn't sure how long he could handle this before breaking down.

“Arthur... are you telling me the truth?”

“Yes.” England swallowed. America had finally said his name. He stared at the tea cart that was piled with food and gestured. “Help yourself.”

Reaching forward, America took one of the cookies off the tray and put it in his mouth. He chewed, the silence dragging. “I’m working on the factories. They’re having a hard time thinking of the lost profits to build war material... but I think they’ll come around.”

“That's unfortunate.” He dragged his finger around the rim of the cup. He didn't know what to do. He itched to say fuck it all and kiss the man. Throw caution to the wind.

“Almighty dollar. You know how it is.” America glanced at him.

“I suppose.” England smiled again and shifted.

“Oh yeah, there was that loan you guys were asking for. It’ll probably go through.”

“That's good to hear.” His fingers tightened over his cup. “ Alfred...”

“Yeah?” America looked down into his mug.

“I... well... never mind.” He shook his head. “Forget it.” His free hand fisted over his belly.

“I’m not going to, so I’d rather you just tell me.” America leaned on the arm of his chair, putting his empty coffee back on the tray. 

“I...” Before England knew it hot tears pricked at his eyes and he shook his head to hide them. This was painful. But he didn't know what to do.

America stared at him, his fingers curling in the arm of his chair. “You’re not okay.”

“Alfred.” He rubbed at him temple. “I...” He could not get words out today. He swallowed. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?” America looked at him with a guarded expression.

“I'm just tired.”

“Are you sleeping?”

England hesitated, fingers almost touching around his eyes, disturbing the makeup. He had slept. It was three hours last night. Between the war and the knowledge his bed was forever cold didn't help. “Yes.”

“You’re a bad liar. Get up.” America stood from the seat and offered England a hand. “You’re taking a nap.”

He stared at the hand in surprise and looked up at him. Setting his tea down, he placed his hand in America’s, drawing in a breath sharply at the touch. Something that simple felt amazing.

_Fuck._

America kept England’s hand in his own as he pulled him through the doors from his office. He paused at the door to England’s bedroom, but pushed through. “Get in bed.” His fingers loosened, his hand not yet pulled away.

England's fingers tightened reflexively. “I...” He looked at the bed and shook his head. “I'm fine.”

“No, you’re gonna rest. Nothing is gonna happen to you while I’m here. Get in the bed, Arthur.”

England stared at him. “Alfred...”

America turned and picked him up, dropping him onto the bed and leaning over to get at the laces on his shoes.

“Manhandling!” England squawked, leaning over and grabbed his hands, swearing as the makeup smudged on his arm.

Stopping, America looked at the mark and then up at England’s face. A sharp intake of breath. “You need to sleep.” He reached forward, brushing more off of England’s skin.

England's eyes fluttered close at the warm touch as America rubbed it off. A small sigh escaped by the time he opened his eyes again, surprised to see the horror on the others face. _Shit._

“I thought hostilities hadn’t started yet,” he said.

“They... haven't.” England looked towards the window as if suddenly very interested in the panes of glass. How could he tell America that this had little to do with the war and more with his own personal struggles? Between the food rationing and the freezing of the Thames in January and the ice storms to follow he was sure he was beginning to look rather tired. It was his own struggles as Arthur that aggravated everything further.

“You are getting some rest.” He pulled England’s legs toward him, working on his shoes again. “And you’re not getting out of it. I’ll cause an international incident in this room.”

“Alfred,” England protested, color jumping to his cheeks. “I can take off my own shoes!”

“I already got it.” He tugged the shoe of one foot, fingers brushing England’s sock. He didn’t look at him, just stayed focused on his work. “Get under the blanket.”

“Alfred...”

“I’m not asking.”

“I can't.”

America looked at him, backing away to drag a chair over. He sat down. “I’m not kidding. You can’t...” His voice broke a little and he took a deep breath to steady it. “You have to be strong so you don’t lose. So you’re gonna sleep.”

“Yes... my surrender would be rather inconvenient wouldn't it?” England sighed, pulling his legs into the bed. He didn't know why he was listening. He didn't have to anymore.

“Yeah, it would,” America said, voice tight. He pulled the blankets up over him, tucking it in around him.

“Good to know.” Bitterness crept into his voice. “I would hate to be an inconvenience.” He flinched.

“You go down and I...” America looked away, tension in his jaw.

“Nothing is ever going to take me down.” England sniffed, rolling over to face the opposite wall “I'm the British Empire. I've stood on my own against far more formidable enemies. You can go Alfred.” His eyes had begun to slide shut since his head hit the pillow. Maybe a twenty minute nap would be fine.

“I’m gonna stay. No arguments.”

“You always do what you want,” he yawned, the words trailing away as he succumbed to exhaustion.

***

America adjusted his position in the chair, trying to get comfortable. He looked at England’s back, sadness pulling at him. He pulled his glasses off his face, wiping at his eye before the tear could escape. He couldn’t break now. England needed to focus on not getting hurt. “You need to take care of yourself. Wait until I can get here.”

Every instinct screamed to get in bed with him, to hold him and keep him safe. But he couldn’t. He wasn’t sure even if he wanted to or if it was just habit. It hurt. He did still love him, no matter how many times he’d tried to talk himself into the fact that they had ended things. At the end of the day, it had always been England.

He curled his hand against the blanket, just and inch from England’s back. He laid his head down, trying to get his feelings under control.

***

“If your goal was to put me in pain then you were successful,” England whispered as he rolled over to see America sleeping half off the bed. He would give in just about. Curling around the other man, England pressed his forehead against Alfred's bicep. Everything hurt all the time. He wanted, needed, him back. But he didn't know what to do. America seemed to be fine. He hadn't said a single thing after he got the flowers and the clip. Had he really fucked up so badly that America no longer cared for him? The thought made him gag. He swallowed a sob. What was he supposed to do?

In his sleep, America’s body twitched, arm hooking around England’s back. He sighed softly in his sleep, relaxing back into the new position. “You ass,” England choked, hiding his face deeper. What was he gonna do?

America made a small sound. He stirred, body jerking as he woke up. He immediately stilled, obviously thinking England was still asleep. He moved back slowly, tucking the blankets around England as he did so. Standing up, he was there for a moment. England could feel his breath on his hair as he leaned over him.

Then he was gone.


	2. Tell Me How You Feel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America and England can't seem to see eye to eye. As the war grows in intensity, the gap between them appears wider than it had been at their worst.

_April 23, 1940_

_London, England_

“I understand that there needs to be an increase in taxes of a sort but there is already dissent over the war as it is. Do we really need to do this right now?” England poured over the documents regarding taxes from the War Budget. They seemed to increase by the minute as they multiplied across the table, aides bringing one stack after another.

“We don’t have much of a choice, how else in the government going to gain any money for the war effort?” Winston puffed away at a cigar in the seat on the other side of his desk.

“But there now by a purchase tax on the wholesale price at 33.5% Winston! We are already enforcing rations and bans and now this!?” England clutched at his belly. He had been subjected to bouts of nausea on and off as the war had progressed. His people were split drastically down the middle in regards to the war. This might swing an entire group. “This is going to cause job loss, the factories can’t keep up the increase!” He dragged his hand through his hair. Nothing seemed to be getting better. “Damn it all.”

***

_May 1940_

_Washington, D.C._

America wondered if it was just from all of the time he’d spent around England, or simply an attunement to the presence of Englishmen in particular. After all, he had a long and tumultuous history with them and the current situation was no exception. He stopped in his tracks outside of the Capitol building, wondering where the voices were coming from. He caught sight of two individuals, the cut of their jackets the wrong style to be the American elite that walked around them. Regaining his sense of momentum, America hurried after them, wondering if it was someone he knew. Someone who may know England as well. Someone who would be able to tell him something of England’s well being.

The men were talking about the weather for what felt like a long time. At one point, an envelope was passed between them. A friend or business partner? I wasn’t until their pace increased and they rounded a corner that America got closer. It wasn’t until their pace increased and they rounded a corner that America got closer. It was then one of the men turned abruptly on his heel and gave America a hard stare. “May we help you?”

“Sorry, thought you might be someone I know. My mistake.” America shrugged and turned around. There was another man standing there that America had not seen until he spoke. America caught the slight rounding on the ‘o’ that gave away some of Canada’s people.

“You followed for too long for it to be a mistake.”

Taking a step back, America bumped into the other man and something that felt suspiciously like a pistol barrel pressed into his back. “Look, I really didn’t mean anything by it.”

“You’re going to need to come with us.”

“Seriously, you’re making a mistake,” America protested. He braced himself to fight should they try anything. In the tense silence that followed, America couldn’t hear the city around them anymore. His heartbeat rang out in his ears as his mind spun. What could England and Canada’s people be up to in his country?!

“Mr. Jones, are you well?” At the end of the alley a familiar face appeared. William Stephenson was a plain enough man, Canadian born, but had become a successful businessman and married an American tobacco heiress. He held very popular dinner parties amongst the Washington elite. America had been a guest at several recently.

“There’s been a misunderstanding, Mr. Stephenson. These guys thought they could sell me on some snake oil.” America took a few steps towards the man. They’d become familiar by discussing Stephenson’s many gadgets, including a way to send pictures over radio waves. His parties were swanky, despite the fact that he didn’t have the most memorable face. “These guys were just gonna clear out.”

Determination showed on the group’s faces and America knew it wasn’t going to be that easy. Then, Mr. Stephenson mentioned the weather to them himself and suddenly America had plenty of space to move. Bewildered, he moved towards Stephenson before the other three could change their minds. They faded back into the flow of people walking on the street beyond.

“What was that?” America asked, turning to stare at the man.

“We can’t talk about it here. Come along.” Still feeling uneasy, America stuffed his hands in his pockets and followed Mr. Stephenson out towards his waiting town car.

“Where are we going?” America asked, not sure how far he could trust the man. Stephenson was notorious for never saying much about himself.

“I’m giving you a ride. I can take you home, or I’m sure my wife would love to see you again.” Mrs. Stephenson was from Tennessee and always had something clever or entertaining to say.

America agreed to the visit and soon they were rumbling along the street to the fine townhome that served as the base for many dinner party and famous after dinner drinks. Stephenson had gained quite the reputation for his martinis, always shaken, not stirred. “So, are you going to tell me who those guys were? Or do I need to alert the FBI?” America asked as they came through the front door. He pulled off his hat and hung it up near the door, smoothing a hand over his hair.

Stephenson walked into the parlor, leaving America the option to follow. He came, walking into the well furnished room. The armchairs were plush and he dropped down into one, smiling to Mrs. Stephenson as she came to greet him and her husband. Mr. Stephenson took a seat. “I should probably not speak with you on this matter, although I’m surprised the President hasn’t informed you. This is a delicate situation, but I feel uncomfortable not informing you. Considering that I now understand exactly who you are. I am also operating with the President’s consent.”

“Operating what?”

“The British Security Coordination. We are gathering information.”

America considered the careful wording for a moment. “You’re spying on me.”

Stephenson looked uncomfortable at America’s own choice of words. “We are tasked with gathering information that would lead to better coordination between our two nations.”

“So why didn’t anyone tell me? If I asked the FBI would they know about this?”

“They don’t. Mr. Roosevelt would like to keep it that way until the situation becomes more favorable to an alliance.”

America leaned back in his seat, considering the news. Did England know? “Tell me everything,” America said. He listened for the better part of the afternoon, taking note of all of the pieces of the rather extensive operation that was going on right under the FBI’s nose. The BSC had ears everywhere, trying to gauge the American response to news coming from across the Atlantic. They were also tasked with creating works that would inspire American citizens to feel more sympathetic to the British cause.

America went home in a daze. One desire swirled his chest the entire way back. He dropped into the chair in his study and picked up the receive on his phone. “I’d like to contact Arthur Kirkland.” He read out the number and listened to the sound of the connections being made at switchboards in dozens of locations. Finally, the sound of a receiver came online with a crackle. “Arthur,” he said.

There was a silence on the other end of the line before a long sigh. "Master Jones, whatever can I do for you?"

“You told me you weren’t spying on me.”

"Excuse me?" England's confused tone, thick with his British accent rolled smoothly over the line.

“S-P-Y-I-N-G, I’m sure you’ve heard of it. A group of them just tried to start trouble with me.” America cradled the receiver next to his cheek. He was torn between irritation and the want to hear England’s voice, no matter what he said or didn’t say.

"I'm not spying on you." England war frowning, America could hear it in his voice, the clink of a teacup down a sharp punctuation to the statement.

“Then Matt must be. Because there is a group of people calling themselves the British Security Coordination. You can tell me, I made sure this line was secure.”

"I said I wasn't spying on you."

“Your people are.”

"And that's not something I ever denied." Amusement erased the trepidation that had filled England's voice when he had first picked up the phone.

“You...” America knew he should be angry, but Stephenson had said that Roosevelt knew about it. America could be annoyed at that. “Do you read the reports?”

"I haven't been, no," England admitted.

“Okay.” The silence hung over the phone. He could hear the crackle as England adjusted the receiver. “Does that mean you used to?”

"No. I have never read them."

America’s breath caught. It wasn’t the answer he was expecting... or even hoping for. “Why not?”

"You want me spying on you?" Surprise colored England's voice.

“I’d rather you talk to me, but I... it would mean you still wanted to know.”

"I... I just said I wasn't reading anything."

“Meaning you have someone read them?” America couldn’t identify the feeling in his chest.

"I am not admitting to anything."

America couldn’t help but smile. He laid his head down on his desk, forehead pressed to the cool grain. “What are you not admitting to?”

"That would be admitting wouldn't it?"

“Theoretically.” America took a deep breath. “I may or may not have read things pertaining to you, but I’m not admitting to anything either.”

"Oh, theoretically, of course." England hummed, the creak of his office chair signaling he was leaning back, as well as the familiar click of his smokes case being opened.

Closing his eyes, America could picture England in so many situations as he listened to the slow inhale and exhale over the crackling line. The one that decided to settle was one where England had been leaning on his chest, his bare skin pressed against America’s own. He’d been relaxed, savoring the cigarette as his free hand had rested on America’s thigh. “So, do you read about me? Hypothetically?”

There was another pause and a long exhale. "Which would you prefer?"

There were so many things he could say. He took another deep breath, letting it out before saying, “That you wanted to know.” He braced himself for the answer.

"Well... I suppose." The porcelain clicked again. "Hypothetically I did."

That twinge went through his chest again. He could almost picture the face England would make any time he let something slip. He loved that look, the shyness that would sweep over England’s self confident features. “Officially, I should be annoyed and tell you to stop, you know. But unofficially... you should teach me some tricks some time.”

"You would have to have something of equal merit to exchange," England chided. There was noise on the other side of the line and a rustling sound, England's voice becoming muffled. He was covering the mouth piece. After a moment his voice was clear as possible once more. "Master Jones it appears I am needed elsewhere."

“You’ll just have to tell me what you want, but we can talk later.” He resisted adding a time. Let England fill it in.

"We shall see..." There was a pause of indecision. "Have a good evening, Master Jones."

“Thanks, Arthur. Have a good day.” The connection ended, and America hung up as soon as the operator began to speak. He put the phone back and put his hands on the back of his head. He shouldn’t have called him. It made him want to get on a plane and skip across the Atlantic. “Shit,” America said to the desktop.

He straightened up and picked up his papers. There was a lot to do before he could leave. England would still be there when he arrived.

He could only hope.

***

_Spring 1940_

_New York City, New York_

**_Dear Arthur,_ **

**_I wasn’t going to write to you. You told me not to after all, but I felt compelled. I was sitting at the old desk that I’d brought up from Virginia and realized it was the one that you’d dumped ink on nearly a century ago. The stain is still there and, well, I thought of you._ **

**_I went to the theater the other night. I know, I don’t usually go with the bad memories, but it was the actual theater, not the moving pictures. I’d heard about a play that was causing quite a stir. It’s called_ There Shall Be No Night _, and of all people it’s about Finland and his problem with Russia._**

**_The thing is, people have decided it’s an allegory and it’s a critique that my government isn’t doing anything to help with the problems in Europe. It feels strange to feel the emotions of both sides, not enough to feel like_ those _days that I can’t really remember around my Civil War, but enough to make me feel on edge all of the time. You know what I mean._**

**_I suppose I just felt compelled to say... I’m trying Arthur. I heard about your problems and I..._ **

America’s fountain pen left a blob of ink that he’d tried to wipe away, smearing across the page. He’d clearly thought about what he’d wanted to say next for a long time, the ink bleeding into the fibers of the paper and separating into black in the center and blue in a halo around it.

**_...don’t know what I was hoping would happen. But I hate that we can’t talk. I miss you._ **

**_I lo..._ **

The words were scratched out before they were finished.

**_I hope that things will change and we can talk like we used to._ **

**_Sincerely,_ **

**_Alfred_ **

***

_May 13, 1940_

_London, England_

England leaned against the doorframe of Churchill's office, arms crossed over his chest, in one hand a cigar and another a glass of brandy. The older man sat in front ofthe radio, his large hands twisting the edges of a paper with a typed out speech. Smoke curled from two cigars, creating mocking plumes of smoke. England shook his head. “This is a speech that will go down in history Winston.”

“Don’t you think I know that? Now whether in mocking or in praise who knows and who cares,” he huffed pulling the mouthpiece closer, eyes darting towards the clock.

“I have heard, read, and watched so many speeches in my several hundred years, Winston. This is one of the good ones.” England’s reassurance was interrupted as the clock chimed and the radio crackled to life. His eyes closed, listening to the timber of Churchill's voice.

_On Friday evening last I received from His Majesty the mission to form a new administration. It was the evident will of Parliament and the nation that this should be conceived on the broadest possible basis and that it should include all parties…You ask, what is our policy? I say it is to wage war by land, sea, and air. War with all our might and with all the strength God has given us, and to wage war against a monstrous tyranny never surpassed in the dark and lamentable catalogue of human crime. That is our policy. You ask, what is our aim? I can answer in one word. It is victory._

_Victory at all costs - Victory in spite of all terrors - Victory, however long and hard the road may be, for without victory there is no survival. Let that be realized. No survival for the British Empire, no survival for all that the British Empire has stood for, no survival for the urge, the impulse of the ages, that mankind shall move forward toward his goal. I take up my task in buoyancy and hope._

_I feel sure that our cause will not be suffered to fail among men. I feel entitled at this juncture, at this time, to claim the aid of all and to say, "Come then, let us go forward together with our united strength.”_

The thrumming over the radio died and the creaking of wood signified that Winston had leaned back in his chair, crumpling the paper in his fist. “Wonderful, Winston.” England pressed the cigar to his lips, his words hazy with smoke. “Simply wonderful.” His eyes cracked open. “You have been but Prime Minister for three days and you have already started on becoming one of England’s greatest in history.” He leaned back and stared at the lamp on winston’s desk. Just years ago that would have been a candle. So, much had changed. Even just three days ago everything wasturned up on its head. Three days ago on the tenth Germany had invaded France and the lower countries, effectively ending th phoney war. Despite America’s hopeful protests and disbelief this was now it, they were at war.

_***_

_May 28, 1940_

_London, England_

“I don’t care Halifax!” Winston’s bellow ricocheted from the office, exploding into the hall. England's footsteps faltered, tea cup and saucer rattling in his hands as he passed. That didn’t sound good at all. He swallowed and glanced at the closed door of the Prime Minister as his foreign minister’s heated response muddled against the thick wood. Releasing an audible sigh, England stared forlornly at his steaming cup of tea. He had technically called for an hour break to cool tempers and heads of parliament. He’d been looking forward to sneaking out to his garden for some much needed relaxation. The angered voices only seemed to escalate as he stood there. It seemed that a break was not in his cards.

Turning he pushed open the door to the office with a sigh. “Whatever is going on here?”

“Ah, Arthur, perfect!” Winston looked up as the door creaked and the two men turned to look at him. “Tell the Viscount here that the War Cabinet is over and that my decision on the stipulations of the agreement are non negotiable.”

“Honestly? This is being opened again?” England frowned. The decision had already been made. It was no longer up for discussion.

“Lord Kirkland,” The foreign secretary stood up, “If you would just hear me out-”

“No!” England held up his hand, effectively silencing the man. “The decision was made this morning and that’s final. There are to be no peace negotiations with Hitler." His tone was clipped.

That ship had sunk long ago. They were fighting in France. He wasn’t going to give up that easily.

_***_

_June 4, 1940_

_London, England_

Once again, Winston sat in front of the radio, a speech paper in hand. This time England found himself in a large arm chair against the wall facing Churchill. Just thirteen days ago Parliament had passed the Emergency Powers (Defense) Act. AsSign that things were expected to get much worse before they were going to get better.Now the government had full control over all persons and property. In the event of an attack on English soil, which in the minds of many seemed highly likely, it was easier this way.

No cigar or brandy this time, but a flask of whiskey perched precariously atop his crossed legs. England's fingers thrummed restlessly against the metal. “We shall fight on the beaches.”

“What?” Winston looked up from the paper to eye him.

“That’s what you should title the speech ‘We shall fight on the beaches’.”

“That's awful, absolutely not,” Churchill scoffed and England rolled his eyes.

“It's the recurring theme.”

“No, it is not.”

“Yes-” The clock gonged as if stopping squabbling amongst children. Once again, the radio squawked to life and Winston's voice filled every home in England.

_...I have, myself, full confidence that if all do their duty, if nothing is neglected, and if the best arrangements are made, as they are being made, we shall prove ourselves once more able to defend our island home, to ride out the storm of war, and to outlive the menace of tyranny, if necessary for years, if necessary alone. At any rate, that is what we are going to try to do. That is the resolve of His Majesty's Government – every man of them. That is the will of Parliament and the nation. The British Empire and the French Republic, linked together in their cause and in their need, will defend to the death their native soil, aiding each other like good comrades to the utmost of their strength…_

_...We shall go on to the end. We shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender…._

The radio crackling fell silent and Churchill leaned back against his chair before eyeing England. "And we’ll fight them with the butt ends of broken beer bottles because that's bloody well all we've got!”

England's fists clenched. _Alfred...please hurry. I need you._

***

_June 4, 1940_

_New York, New York_

America didn’t touch the coffee that had been put in front of him with his breakfast. He’d seen the intelligence documents as they had come in. He’d been listening to the phone calls that Roosevelt had made with Churchill. The requests for aid. The denials. Each stomach churning moment as he imagined England trapped in Calais with the rest of his troops. He’d been assured that he wasn’t there, but the fall of France had become inevitable now. Germany was going to conquer every inch. France had already surrendered in Paris. If England lost his army there...

He’d wanted to call him, even if England only wanted to shout. To know that he wasn’t defeated and was still strong enough to curse him all the way across the world would have meant everything. He’d been told not to. There was no way he was allowed to help.

His eyes read the articles for the sixth time. The miracle at Dunkirk they were calling it. They had managed to requisition enough private boats to get as many British soldiers off the beaches of Dunkirk as they could, even a few French ones. Citizens had gone through a battle zone to rescue their soldiers.

America spread the articles out on the table. He grabbed for his pen, priming the nib before putting it to paper.

**_Dear Arthur,_ **

**_Stay strong, sweethea..._** He paused, scratching out the words. **_I’m trying to get there..._** He scratched that out too.

Every phrase that he tried to begin was stuck in his mind. They all sounded like things he couldn’t say anymore or ones that wouldn’t help. England couldn’t fall. “I want to be there with you,” America said to the empty room. He leaned on his elbows over the desk and put his hands in his hair, fisting them and pulling on the strands. He wanted England, always had. The absence of him lodged in his stomach in the way that it had for decades in the 19th century when they were at odds. It hurt more now, since he knew what it could be like when they were fully aligned with each other.

He was going to fix it.

Standing up, America went to the phone, calling for a car. He was going to the airfield. It was time to go and see him in person again. He braced himself as he packed his bag. It was going to be a long flight, but at least he could see England on the other end. They were going to get the groundwork laid even if he had to make England see how important it was. He was strong. He was stubborn.

But he was still going to need help. America hoped he could get him to see it.

***

_June 7, 1940_

_London, England_

“Lukas.” England entered the main hall, pushing ahead of George and Elizabeth the Queen mother to greet the Norwegian nation and his monarchy.

“Maud!” He beamed as King Haakon VII of Norway and his government evacuated into his hall. It was Lukas and Maud that stole his attention, however. He pulled Maud into his arms in a hug. Maud Charlotte Mary Victoria, the daughter ofQueen Victoria and Prince Consort Albert.

“Arthur, oh my goodness! I have missed you.” She smiled hugging him back.

“I thought I saw Alfred outside,” Lukas whispered in his ear as England and Maud stepped back. England tensed before whispering back.

“Yes, he and some American delegates are to be arriving today because of some trade and gift exchanges,” he muttered. His attention was stolen by the Queen mother as she stepped forward, announcing to the Norwegian royal family that rooms had been prepared and they could wash up and rest after their journey, the appropriate staff appearing as if out of the woodwork. “We can talk after you settle in and get something to eat.” He squeezed Norway's hand as the front doors were pulled open.

England wondered what excuse America had made to tag along. The entire thing was already more or less settled by phone. Churchill had been in his ear for hours last night about how he couldn’t quarrel with America now because by doing this it was one step closer to him joining the war. Courtship, Churchill had called it. England had to snort at that. The American delegation came into the room, the cut of their suits setting them apart from the more European fashions elsewhere in the room. America glanced at England when he strode over, but gave his attention to Norway. “Lukas, I’m sorry to hear what happened.”

“Yes. This whole war is...” Norway said flatly, arms crossing and he took a step back. He’d always been quiet and of few words. The war had made him even more withdrawn. “I'll see you later, Arthur,” he murmured and dashed after his monarchy.

America watched him go, pushing his hands in his pockets. “I guess we could cut to the chase. So, the trade deal...”

“Not now, Master Jones.” England watched as the foreign monarchy followed their hosts down the hall.

“I don’t really want to talk about it either, but here we are.” America rubbed the back of his neck. “You... I don’t know how to say hello to you anymore.”

“A ‘good afternoon, Lord Kirkland’ is sufficient,” England forced out. He looked away.

“I’ve never greeted you that way... even after my independence.”

“Well, now you're a big nation now and...” He swallowed. “And no longer in my personal circle so that is my official title.”

“Arthur...” America took a few steps back. “I guess I’ll see you soon to talk about this deal FDR and Winston cooked up.”

“Don't.” He shook his head, shoving his curling fingers into his trouser pockets.

“Don’t what?”

“Call me that.”

“No.” America frowned. “You don’t get to dictate what I call you.”

“Then don't speak to me.” England looked away. “I cannot have you call me that.”

“I’m speaking to you because this needs to happen. If you don’t want me to say your name, fine, but I’m not leaving.”

“Do whatever you want, you've never cared about how I felt with it all. Good day, Master Jones.” England turned quickly on his heel for his office.

“Ar- Kirkland! You stubborn...” America turned away and followed after his delegation.

***

“It’s 2300 hours already,” England muttered to himself, digging the palms of his hands into his eyes. It was hot and sticky even with the time of night. The humidity refused to let up and England had been forced to forgo his jacket and tie. Yet it was not enough. He eyed the stacks of paperwork he had yet to go through with disdain. “A walk in the garden is highly needed.”

He pushed back from his desk. It was June. In his personal palace garden, his private blue roses were at their peak. In no time at all, England found himself shucking off shoes and socks. He rolled up his trousers, digging his toes into the fresh garden soil as he unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt with a sigh of relief as a weak breeze meandered through. Brushing away the sweat-slicked strands of hair from his forehead, he heaved a sigh. It was June. He wasn’t just warm because of the weather. IT was less than a month away.The sound of crunching gravel let him know he wasn’t alone. “This is a private garden you have no right to be here!” he called out.

The trespasser stopped for a moment, but then continued on. England could see America coming around the hedge, his hands shoved in his pockets and a pensive expression on his face. “I didn’t think anyone else was going to be out here. You should be in bed.”

“Is that so, mother?” England scowled. “This is my garden, if I want to take a walk here I certainly can. I needed a break from the paperwork.” He didn’t know why he was defending himself. He didn’t need to anymore. America didn’t care what he was doing. They weren’t together anymore.

“So did I. I’m trying to figure out what to do about Kiku since he’s invaded Yao’s lands... and you. I should have asked how you were earlier. That thing you pulled off evacuating your troops from Dunkirk... I couldn’t stop reading the papers.”

“You don’t need to do anything about me. I’m not your concern anymore.” England slipped into one of the rows of roses, scanning the petals for blemishes. It was easier if he didn’t look at him.

“Fine. I don’t know what to do about the United Kingdom. Hitler is taking down countries one by one and I still have an interest in the UK not going down.”

“Yes, that would be terrible for your trade wouldn’t it?” He tried to push down the bitterness that threatened to crawl up his throat.

“It would be terrible for democracy and let the tyrants take over. I’m not gonna let that happen. They’re already hurting too many of our friends, including the ones they control.”

“Yes. yes,” he sighed. If he had wanted to deal with politics, he would have stayed inside with his paperwork.

“And I... I don’t want you to get hurt. Even if I’m not supposed to care anymore.”

England's posture became rigid, fingertips hovering over blue petals. How was he supposed to respond to that? “Fancy that,” he croaked. He felt like he was going to cry again.

“I... Arthur, I...” Whatever it was, he was struggling with the words. “Shit. I don’t know how to talk to you anymore. It used to be easy.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Alfred,” he swallowed, crouching down. “Perhaps just as you speak with the others.” His heart tore even further. “For that is what I am now, just one of the other nations. It shouldn’t be that hard.”

A sharp intake of breath as though he’d been stung. America shifted on his feet, stirring the gravel again. “Is that who I am to you now? Just another nation? Like the last century didn’t mean anything?”

England's fingers curled. “That's what you're supposed to be,” he whispered.

“If I am, then why can’t you look at me?”

“I, I can’t.” He shook his head.

“Because we’re not just like anybody else... I... got your flowers. I should have said something about them ages ago, but I had to get on a train and... I was going to send you a telegram, but couldn’t think of what to say.”

England turned away sharply. If he looked at him, who knew what he would see? He had waited this long. What couldn’t he say? A way to turn him down? Tell him that was too late? He bit the inside of his cheek to stop the sob that threatened.

“I don’t know if I got the message right, but... did you mean it?”

England inhaled shakily. “What-what do you think it said?” This was it.

“Red roses mean love. The other two... those are the ones I don’t know if I got right.”

England's hands fisted in his trouser pockets. “What do you think they meant?” He breathed. He could do this. He could do this.

“All I could figure out is that they were variations on love. Flowers weren’t my strong suit. I was way better at making paper love notes... if you remember.”

England's jaw clenched. This wasn't the time for this. He couldn't do this. “Yes, I remember.”

“So... I guess I’m not sure what to think. We shared some words, but then you send me things and I’m not sure which is right.”

“Just forget about it.”

“That’s like saying forget our history. You’re not just someone else to me, even if you don’t want me anymore.” He took a few steps forward.

“Don't put words in my mouth!”

“I wouldn’t have to if you would use yours!” America’s feet shifted around and England could hear him drop down onto a bench. “Damn it.”

England sat down in the dirt, arms folding over his knees. He didn't know what to do. He was tired and he didn't know what to do. “Alfred.”

They were quiet for a long while. “Do you remember in 1781 when you pointed your musket at me and didn’t pull the trigger? That day has been stuck in my mind lately. For just a second everything in me froze wondering if I’d really pushed you too far... that you would kill me. When the gun fell from your hands, I knew that I wasn’t wrong about who you’d been to me. But that moment of doubt, I think I held onto that for a long time even though I never questioned that I loved you. I think that’s why I got so angry...”

“Alfred.” England placed his head in his hands. Was this the time to do this? Was there a perfect time? He felt nauseous. He groaned.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“No, I am fine.” England inhaled deeply, hand folding over his mouth. This had been happening more and more often. He needed to get inside. He was going to get light headed soon.

Movement and America’s hand was on his back. “What can I do?”

Just the simple touch on his back created a whirlwind of emotions. His pride wanted him to pull away, but his heart wanted to ignore all of their words and pull the other back towards him. His heart seemed to have the upper hand and he could feel his resolve grow weak. “I just need to go in.”

“Okay, let me give you a hand.” He took England’s arm, helping him up off the ground. He stayed close, giving England the chance to lean on him if he wanted. His fingers were firm where they held him.

He couldn’t do this anymore. England jerked his arm out of America's grasp. Only to upset his own equilibrium. It was his turn to grab onto America, his face pressed against the other’s shoulder. He would regret this later he was sure. The pain was going to be all the greater, but for now this is what he wanted.

America was still as though he were afraid to breathe and startle England again. He swallowed and one arm rested gently around England’s back. His fingers flexed against England’s side, tugging a little at the fabric of his shirt. “Steady, dude, I’ve got you,” he whispered, breath ghosting over the side of England’s face.

England flinched. That word was so casual, unfamiliar. He had told America to not call him by anything personal, but to not hear his name when they were alone hurt more than he thought it would. He couldn’t think on that now. He was here, he had gotten here. He needed to utilize it while he could. He took a deep breath as if trying to will away nausea which was all but a million miles away at this point. His own free hand found purchase on the back of America’s shirt. He couldn’t be satisfied with this.

America wrapped his other arm around him, the pressure still soft, like he wasn’t sure if he could hold him any tighter. A land mine that could blow them both to pieces. His cheek was warm against England’s temple as he leaned his head against his own.

“Alfred... I...” He took another deep breath. He could do this.

“What?” America asked. His arms shifted, body tense.

England looked up at him, feeling his breath catch in his chest as he peered up into America’s eyes. “Alfred.” He wanted to say that name for every day he had missed out on doing so.

America looked back, his hands flattening against England’s back. “I wish I could remember...”

England faltered. “Remember what?”

“Our last kiss. I always figured there would be more.” He closed his eyes. England could feel his breath on his lips. “Do you remember?”

“Of course, I-”

“Lord Kirkland! Are you there!?”

England yanked backwards eyes widening. What had just happened? “Yes! A moment!”

America stood back, his hands hanging at his sides. “Arthur...”

“I am needed.” England took several steps backwards. “You have a good evening, Master Jones,” he whispered.

“Wait, Arthur...” He tried to take England’s arm.

England stepped away. “I can't.”

“I need to know what... what are we doing?”

“I don’t know.”

America’s face fell. “You still don’t know.” He turned away, marching back off into the darkness.

“All I know is that I love you,” England whispered after him.

***

_June 8, 1940_

_London, England_

America tried not to fall asleep in the chair as the delegates spoke. He hadn’t been able to get any sleep since England had left him in the garden, more questions hanging in his mind. England needed ships, that was why America had come. They weren’t new by any means, but his navy wouldn’t part with the new ones. Not that there were that many. No one was about to be forthcoming about the fact that he only had about 200,000 active military members. A standing army was something his people always argued about. If anyone knew that... well, maybe Germany wouldn’t be acting so cautious where he was concerned. Conscription was being talked about, but it was a hard sell when he wasn’t at war.

He looked across the table. England wasn’t looking at him, his long fingers playing with the fountain pen in his hands. He occasionally wrote something down, but as soon as the cap was back on the pen it was being turned over and over. He’d felt so fragile last night. He should have just pulled him closer and kissed him. It would have only felt good for a minute, but it would have been something to hold onto rather than this cold void that seemed to exist between them.

“Mr. Churchill insists that the exchange be seen as a gift between kindred nations. Show a united front.”

“Unfortunately, those in our country who don’t think we should be helping you at all will call it bribery, that you’re sweet talking us in exchange for our alliance. If we worked it out to make it look like a reasonable business exchange, then no one will be able to make any such accusations.”

England heaved a sigh and leaned back in his chair, picking up his teacup, scowling when he found it empty. He looked to one to Andrew who was standing behind him and rushed to fill the cup. He glanced to Alfred, stiffening when he caught the other staring. _What?_

The delegates were still talking, but America didn’t follow the conversation. The same had been going on by telephone for weeks. The hope that things would finally get organized in face to face discussions might have been misplaced. It was likely his boss was going to swoop in along with England’s prime minister and just end the discussion anyway. Reaching forward to pick up his own pen, America scribbled a quick note. He folded the paper up and flicked it across the table toward England.

England stared at the paper as if it were a viper that would strike at him. After a moment he reached over and unfolded it with cautious finger tips.

**_Will you meet me this afternoon? I want to talk to you._ **

England's fingers curled around the paper with a frown. Any gumption that existed last night was gone. He wasn't ready yet. He had to work himself up again. He scribbled a return note and passed it back.

_About what?_

**_About all this,_** America wrote back, **_This whole thing would be a lot easier if we were on the same page about non belligerent support._** He looked up at England as he passed it.

England frowned. Why not just bring it up now? “So what are we doing about non belligerent support?”

America sat up in his seat. “After the exchange there will be continued material support. We can support British and Canadian ships through the defense zone.” America continued talking about the plans that were going into place. He paused as the delegates took back over and scribbled another note. **_Seriously, talk to me after._**

_I am busy._

America looked up at him, folding the paper again. He pushed it into the surface of the table. He looked at England, determined now to catch him when there was a break.

England recognized the look on America’s face and flushed with panic. He needed that not to happen. All it would take was a whisper to a faerie and send it on its way to Norway to come calling for him. The other nation did owe him after all. Leaning forward on his elbows England did his best to appear interested, all the while stealing glances at the clock and counting down the minutes. And... there! The door opened and in slipped one of his personal office assistants. Who headed straight for Andrew. England began to pack up his things quietly.

“Where are you going?” America interrupted when England stood up. It ground all of the conversation to a halt. England stared at him until Andrew came over to whisper in his ear.

“Lukas has requested my aid. My delegates here can record the rest and I will reconvene with them later tonight. If you would excuse me, gentlemen.”

America’s brow furrowed, but England turned away and was out the door in a few steps. He was halfway down the hall when America caught up with him. “Why won’t you talk to me?”

“Master Jones, I am being called elsewhere for aid and am in a hurry. You should be in the meeting.” England peered over his shoulder. _Not now._

“Awfully convenient timing, huh? I’m in there offering to do as much as I can short of going to war and you can’t even look at me!”

England flinched. “I was listening.”

“Say something. I...” His brow furrowed further, almost as though he’d been hit in the stomach. “Come to my room later, so we can talk? I really need to talk to you.”

“I can try.”

“Don’t just try, okay?” America hovered for a moment and looked like he wanted to say something else, but then he turned on his heel and strode back down the hall.

England heaved a sigh. “He is going to be the death of me.”

***

Hours passed and the morning stretched into afternoon. Evening slipped in and the sun had set with still no appearance from England in America's guest chambers.

America ran his hand through his hair and frowned at the surface of his desk. “You could at least send me some flimsy excuse.” He pushed back his chair and grabbed his jacket off the back of his seat. If England wasn’t going to come to him, he was going. He considered, for a moment, going through the secret door, had his hand on the handle. _No, he won’t like that._ He came out into the hallway and slammed into someone coming around the corner.

“Ah, Alfred!” Australia smiled up at him.

“Jett!” America blinked at him. “You’re here. I’m surprised Arthur doesn’t have you wrangling soldiers back home like Matt.”

“I’m here visiting actually.” He grinned. “I just came from Arthur's room, but he has sent me to go keep Lukas company now.”

“He told me he was keeping Lukas company. He was supposed to come talk to me after the meeting.” America looked at him. The rumor was completely ridiculous, Australia was even younger than he was and England had always kept him a bit of arm’s length. It would be more believable that Australia was in his own bed than England’s. He looked away from him. “Is he still in his room?”

“He and Lukas were hanging out and then Lukas had to go talk to Maude. Ya, he is still in there. He was yawning and rubbing at his eyes though so I'm not sure if he will still be awake.”

“I’ll check on him. Thanks.” America offered him a smile. Australia looked a little wan, the last war hadn’t gone so well for him. “Where’s he sending ANZAC?”

“Everywhere.” Australia sighed and waved at him. “Lukas promised me Norwegian sweets so I'm going there. Night, mate.”

“Good night.” America waved back. “I’ll bring you something next time I see you.” Australia smiled at him and America turned back towards England’s room. He was grateful to find the manservant elsewhere. “Arthur?”

There was no answer as America padded through the parlour and peered into the bedroom to find Arthur in a house robe and sitting in the window seat with a book. “What?”

“You didn’t send word that you weren’t coming.” He leaned against the door frame. “So I came to you.” He wanted to go across to him, tug the book out of his hands and pull him into his lap. A year ago he would have done it... too much had changed.

England closed the book and crossed his legs. He should have felt nervous but he felt calm. He was glad he had decided on those 3 shots of whiskey. “It’s after eight and it would have been rude to call on you this late.”

“I wouldn’t have cared.”

“There are certain protocols to be observed with visiting delegates.” He looked out the window.

“I’m not just a delegate.”

“And nations.”

“I’m still me.”

“Exactly, which means even more protocol.”

America smiled at him. “You know I don’t follow protocols.”

“But as a man who no longer has privy use of my chambers there are those you must now observe,” England whispered. “You no longer have run of the palace as you used to.”

“Are you going to have me thrown out? I just wanted to talk. You didn’t answer me last night.”

“I should... but the spirits say no.” He looked at him.

“You’ve been drinking?”

“A bit.” England shrugged. He knew America’s thoughts on that.

“Arthur... you don’t have to avoid me. I’ve been asking.”

“I am not avoiding you.”

“Then what are you doing?” He straightened up from the door frame and walked towards the window seat. He sat down on the other side, watching England from the corner of his eye. America had never been an acquaintance. There was too much history. 

Stretching out his legs England placed his bare feet in America’s lap, doing nothing to hide the flesh of his legs exposed by the short robes. Maybe it was four shots of whiskey that he’d thrown back?

America’s response was easy, automatic. He took the arch of one foot in his hand and pressed, watching the way England’s eyes drifted shut. “You have been drinking,” he said.

“I told you,” he moaned quietly, relaxing into the touch.

“You should stay sharp. In case someone tries something.”

“I'm not drunk.” He placed the ball of his free foot lightly against America’s belly. “Don't lecture me.”

“Arthur... I need to know some things.” His fingers brushed over England’s ankle.

“Uh huh?” It was hard to focus on anything besides America’s touch.

“Did you mean it? The flowers?”

“Yes,” he murmured, taking a slow breath. He felt warm.

America’s fingers slowed. “Where does that leave us?”

England frowned opening his eyes. “What?”

America looked back at him. “What do we do now?” He cradled England’s foot in his hands.

“I don't know, Alfred,” England admitted. Was that all Alfred needed? Some flowers? He was satisfied?

“You still don’t know.” America shifted, putting England’s feet down on the cushion. “I’m gonna go.”

“That's fine. It's always my job to get everything done so you'll just have to get in line I can only do so much at once,” said England, bitterness seeping into his tone. England brought his feet underneath himself, forehead pressing to the window pane. He was tired. America's presence had turned from delightful to stressful in moments. No, not America. The discontent between them.

America stood up. “Then share the fucking load. You don’t have to do everything by yourself.” His voice was irritated.

“You got angry. Always angry at me” England murmured as the whiskey tugged at him. He hadn't slept in a window seat in a long time.

“I’m not angry at you. I’m angry about the situation.”

“I'm the black sheep of Europe I am used to it,” he murmured, words slurring.

“You’re not that to me.” America sighed. Walking back over, he stood beside him. “You should get some rest.” He waited for several moments before he realized that England had fallen asleep sprawled out in the window seat. The nation shifted slightly and there was a clink as his pocket watch tumbled from his pocket and hit the floor. America bent down to pick it up, fingers brushing over the spade-shaped face. It was something that reminded him of England in so many ways. He looked back at him and settled the watch in his lap, before hooking his arms beneath England’s body and lifting him out of the window seat.

The pocket watch must have been bumped, because it popped open. Inside was the handcrafted clock and on the other was a small portrait of America from the shoulders up, a large grin on his face and a cap jammed onto his head in the 1930’s style.

America looked down at the picture as he carried England to the bed and settled him amongst the blankets. He picked up the watch and looked at it more closely. He could place the photograph almost instantly. It had been on one of the trips they’d stolen away. He’d given him a new Kodak and England had been amusing himself taking photographs of the scenery. He’d been teasing him and trying to grab the camera when it had clicked. He’s always figured the photo hadn’t come out. What did it all mean? He closed the watch carefully, tucking it into England’s hand. “Why can’t you just tell me how you feel?” he whispered, reaching up to brush England’s hair off his forehead.

***

_June 9th, 1940_

_London, England_

“The Prime Minister has specifically requested a force to carry out raids against German occupation in the other European nations,” England announced and Canada looked up from his spot on the couch where he was sewing new patches onto his uniform.

“And how did you manage that?”

“It was from men who volunteered for the special service brigade.” England sat on the edge of his desk, the jinglingof his pocket watch catching his attention. He pulled it from his pocket as if to check the time and popped it open, staring at the image inside. _‘Alfred..’_ he swallowed and pushed the watch back into his pocket.“Just wait Matthew, soon men from France, Greece, Norway, Poland, the Netherlands, Belgium and even the US will be a part of the Commandos.”

***

_June 10th, 1940_

_London, England_

England stared at the telegraph in his hands, barely registering Churchill standing over his shoulder as the rest of Parliament hovered behind.

“Arthur, what is it?”

“It’s Feliciano.”

“Who?”

“Italy... the Italian Dictator Benito Mussolini has just officially and formally declared war on France and the United Kingdom.” England sighed, a chorus of swearing and orders erupting behind him like the climax in a symphonic orchestra. It could only get worse from here.

***

**Telegram - Washington, D.C. to London**

**_Arthur._ **

**_I heard about Italy. I can’t say I’m surprised with that dude that’s running the place. I’ve been trying to get a hold of Lovino, but he won’t answer. I’m going to keep working on him. I’ll keep you posted._ **

**_Alfred._ **

***

_June 17th, 1940_

_RMS Lancastria, Atlantic Ocean outside of Saint-Nazair_ e

_Sometime after 15:48_

Cold. England was more than familiar with the fact that the ocean was cold. This wasn’t the first time that he had fallen in. Salt water flooded his nostrils and lungs, burning and choking the oxygen from him. It had been a rescue mission. Saving British nationals. Others. As many as possible. Damn it burned. He felt himself being pulled to the surface long enough to catch a breath before being shoved back under. But not fast enough. Shit. The German planes must have bombed the oil spill. Now even the water was burning. Even with the water and the fire England could hear it. They were shooting people in the water.

Soldiers and civilians. 

***

_June 17th, 1940_

_1800hrs_

_WashingtonD.C, USA_

“Mr. Jones Mr. Jones!” One of the officers burst into America’s office, panic painted across his features, a crumpled handwritten page in hand. “The Germans just struck a British vessel, I mean hours ago.” He stopped in the doorway. “They are expecting between 3,000 and 6,500 deaths,” he croaked.

America stared at him for a moment, the words sounding incomprehensible. The numbers sounded too high. What about lifeboats? Life vests? “Civilian?” America asked, the memory of the _Lusitania_ floating in his mind. The water of the Atlantic was so cold...

“From what we understand she’d been requisitioned as a naval vessel to evacuate the remaining soldiers from France.” The paper was held out and America snatched it, seeing the spidery cursive of whomever had taken the call. The ship had waited for naval protection filled with as many soldiers and some civilians that it could carry. The _Lancastria_ had been attacked in French waters by German bombers. Down in twenty minutes. No other ships nearby to offer aid to them quickly. Unknown casualties. Estimates. America felt his stomach drop.

“Why isn’t there more information? This says it happened two hours ago.” America frowned. The notes were sparse, it barely took up half of the small note paper.

“We believe the news is likely to be suppressed. British morale is...”

“I need to make a call. Thanks for bringing me this. If more info comes through bring it to me, okay?” America was already picking up the receiver as the man headed out the door. He asked for a connection and he could hear the click and whirr of connections as he was linked to a switchboard thousands of miles away.

“Arthur Kirkland’s office. He is currently away, can I take a message?” America recognized the voice of England’s manservant.

“I need to talk to him. This is Alfred F. Jones.”

“He is not here.”

“Is he at sea?” There was a pause at the other end of the line.

“He is on a naval assignment. That is all that I can say.”

“Dude, I know we don’t always see eye to eye. But call me back if you hear from him. Tell him I’m waiting for his call when he gets back. It’s important.” There was an acknowledgement and then the click of a line being closed. America sat back in his chair for a moment, worry about England stirring in his body.

Getting up, he walked out of the room and headed through the halls and straight into the Oval Office. “You’ve got to get them to talk to us, Franklin,” America said, interrupting the man as he sat at his desk.

“You’re right,” said FDR folding his hands over his papers and offering America a seat.

***

_June 18th, 1940_

_London, England_

“It’s 15:45 Winston, you cannot put this off any longer.” England checked his watch and double checked it with the grandfather clock against the wall. “You've been editing those twenty-three pages again and again. Every speech thus far has been brilliant there is no reason to suspect that this one is not going to be as brilliant as well.” He shook his head when the man huffed at him. “Winston, you need to make it now.”

“Fine, fine.” He huffed, slamming the papers down on the table, England dropping into the overstuffed armchair right after. He signalled to the radio operators, the red light going on and casting the room with an eerie glow. Once again the radio crackled and England eyed the clock as Churchill stared at the microphone before taking a large breath.

_I spoke the other day of the colossal military disaster which occurred when the French High Command failed to withdraw the northern Armies from Belgium at the moment when they knew that the French front was decisively broken at Sedan and on the Meuse…._

_....However matters may go in France or with the French Government or with another French Government, we in this island and in the British Empire will never lose our sense of comradeship with the French people. If we are now called upon to endure what they have been suffering, we shall emulate their courage, and if final victory rewards our toils they shall share the gains, aye. And freedom shall be restored to all. We abate nothing of our just demands—Czechs, Poles, Norwegians, Dutch, Belgians, all who have joined their causes to our own shall be restored._

_What General Weygand has called the Battle of France is over ... the Battle of Britain is about to begin. Upon this battle depends the survival of Christian civilisation. Upon it depends our own British life, and the long continuity of our institutions and our Empire. The whole fury and might of the enemy must very soon be turned on us. Hitler knows that he will have to break us in this island or lose the war. If we can stand up to him, all Europe may be freed and the life of the world may move forward into broad, sunlit uplands…._

_But if we fail, then the whole world, including the United States, including all that we have known and cared for, will sink into the abyss of a new dark age made more sinister, and perhaps more protracted, by the lights of perverted science. Let us therefore brace ourselves to our duties, and so bear ourselves, that if the British Empire and its Commonwealth[e] last for a thousand years, men will still say, "This was their finest hour."...._

***

_July 3, 1940_

_London, England_

The world was suddenly tilting, as if he had been draining his decanter. But he hadn’t had a single drink in days. He had woken up feeling sick as usual but to his surprise wasn’t showing signs of passing out like normal. Until now, his arms panged in protest at the weird angle that they twisted as the carpet was suddenly pressed to his cheek. The muffled shouts confused the haze surrounding his thoughts. Usually if he collapsed he was unconscious, and it always waited until the fourth.“Arthur!” Winsons voice snaked its way through the fog and the scent of tobacco and cognac wafted over him as his Prime minster leaned down, hands slowly rolling him onto his back. It was like everything was soaked in confectioners glaze, gooey and sticky.

“Cardiff.”

“Fire.”

“Evacuation.”

“Arthur,” Winston’s voice slogged through the haze once more. “Arthur. The Germans... the Luftwaffe have bombed Cardiff.”

_They’ve started bombing us._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your reading! If you've been enjoying our story please leave us a comment or a kudo (we read every comment and love getting them)! Also, Otakuashels and I were chatting the other day and were wondering if any of you had seen any fanart of our story? If you have, could you send them our way? We'd love to see it!
> 
> Just a note, we might have a bit of a longer break between this chapter and the next. There is a lot going on in 1940 and 1941 and we want to make sure we fit in all of the events we wanted to include. We can't wait to share the next chapter with you when it's ready!


	3. Bombers and Fighters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Battle of Britain is on and it brings with it worry and heartbreak.

_July 10, 1940_

_In the Air on the Coast of Great Britain_

_0800 hrs_

The Hurricane aircraft hummed beneath England’s gloved fingers, fields of green and dirt roads rushing by beneath him as he sat in the middle of the squadron in flight. It was a common start to his days now. He woke up and dressed in his uniform before sitting down for a cuppa. He glanced over missives before the paper was delivered, pressed and folded, to whatever was serving as his current desk. He was given seventeen minutes with his cup and complete silence before any officer was allowed to enter his morning space. Not a minute sooner. Otherwise, all hell would break loose as some poor sap had figured out two days ago. Some days he went from tea to ocean, tea to trenches, or on days like today, tea to air.

Leaning back in his seat, England adjusted his mask, eyes scanning the air, glancing at the other planes as they cruised in the air looking for the Luftwaffe. The hangers before take-off reeked of desire. Desire for glory at the pub that night. Want to tell stories of how they took down a Nazi plane, send a bastard spiraling down. Then there was a desire to have no stories. To see no Germans. For if one was given the opportunity to tell a story there was always a chance that you wouldn’t come back at all. A contradiction war had always been fond of.England swallowed a yawn. War was exhausting.

There! Like clockwork, the planes snapped into formation. Something had been spotted.England pulled up, hoping to use the blaze of the afternoon sun to hide himself from enemy eyes. Using your surroundings to your advantage was the first thing he had learned when handed bow and arrow, swaddled in a green cloak in the deep forests of Britannia. It was a lesson that he had never forgotten. There!

All hell broke loose. Planes screamed, bullets tore through metal like hungry teeth. Flipping in the air. Clouds a hindrance and an advantage. He watched as the others dropped away into battle. Everything happened in the blink of an eye. There. There amongst the fat clouds was a plane, hovering as if preparing to drop down on enemies to far absorbed with other targets. It was as if time slowed down, like when he used to take broadsword in hand and there was that split second where time stood still just before you ran a man through. And then he fired. Nose dropping straight he came down on top of the plane that flung away to to flee. No. There! Fire. Smoke. Fuck. It wasn’t only the Nazi that was on fire. His own plane choked and throttled. His engine had seized.

Shit. Shards of glass cut his face. And then he dropped. Funny. How fast the ocean can come up to meet you. Searing pain in his shoulder. Being shot always hurt so bad once the shock wore off. The muffle explosion as the plane hit the water. The cold of the Atlantic that he was all too familiar with in the many years he’d been in existence.

“Oh, I can’t swim.”

***

_July 10, 1940_

_Washington, D.C._

_U.S. Capitol_

America leaned in the gallery seating, watching as the President pulled himself to the podium so he could give his speech. Things had gone from bad to worse for England and the others over the last several weeks. England had stopped talking to him as he dealt with the blows from his illness and the bombings that had begun. America clenched his hands. He wanted to do something and everyone was just talking!

_...In my opinion, it is necessary now that the people of this nation and their representatives in Congress look at the problem of the national defense with utterly dispassionate realism. Never have we as a nation attempted to define the word “defense” in terms of a specific attack at a certain place at a certain time or with specified land and sea forces. In the long sweep of the century and a half since our defenses have been concentrated and unified under the Constitution, it has been the prime obligation of the President and Commander in Chief promptly to advise the Congress with respect to any world circumstances calling for either increased or diminished defense needs..._

_...I had felt it necessary on previous occasions to warn of disturbances abroad, and the need of putting our own house in order in the face of storm signals from across the seas... I said then that all about us raged undeclared wars, military and economic... I said then that the storms from abroad directly challenged three institutions indispensable to Americans - religion, democracy and international good faith._

_Unfortunately, many American believed that those who thought they foresaw the danger of a great war, were mistaken. Unhappily, those of us who did foresee that danger, were right._

Roosevelt went on to describe the many appeals he had made to Congress to increase the production of the military. America watched their faces, glancing from each of the ninety-six men and few women that were representing the people of the forty-eight states.

... _Again today, in less than two months time, the changes in the world situation are so great and so profound that I must come once again to the Congress to advise concerning new threats... and the imperative necessity of mooting them. Free men and free women of the United States look to us to defend their freedom against all enemies foreign and domestic. These enemies of freedom who hate free institutions now deride democratic governments as weak and insufficient._

America listened as he spoke about the dangers that the fascist regimes provided. He wanted to fight. Wanted to help. He knew about a group that was meeting in New York to talk about how to convince everyone that the war should be joined, that it was their moral imperative to do so in order to protect democracy. America had listened. The Century Group was already talking about ways they could get around the rules that had been put in place. Ways that they could start making a difference. America hoped everyone else would start to realize it too.

... _We see great nations still gallantly fighting against aggression, encouraged by high hope of ultimate victory. That we are opposed to war is known not only to every American but to every government in the world. We will not use our arms in a war of aggression; we will not send our men to take part in European wars..._

America pulled his eyes away from the senators to the President, feeling the hope that he would be more aggressive falling like dominoes. He wasn’t going to ask for an active military. This was still about defense. There would still be no American Expeditionary Force. The numbers of what was needed for the military rolled out. America could hear the murmur of dissent already. It was still just talking.

He wanted to take action.

It was out of the corner of his eye that he noticed a man slipping towards him with a look of trepidation. A telegram was clutched in his hand. He stopped for just a moment in front of America before handing over the note and bolting like a frightened colt. That was never good. America stared at the folded telegram. He didn’t want to open this. He really didn’t want to. With a swallow he unfolded the paper.

**_Arthur Kirkland_ **

**_Shot down by Luftwaffe_ **

**_Last seen over Atlantic Ocean, 0930hrs._ **

**_No signs found in wreckage._ **

**_Status: MIA_ **

The words may as well have been in ancient runes. They didn’t make any sense. Arthur shot down? Not found? He couldn’t hear the responses on the Congressional floor. Time ceased to have meaning as he stared at the telegram, hoping that the words would say something else. He stood up, his hands shaking on the paper. All he could think of was getting away from there. Away from the noise.

He tripped down the front steps of the Capitol building and into the stream of human traffic on the streets of D.C. His feet carried him away from the domed building and down the tree-lined paths along the Mall. He skirted the reflecting pool, not pausing to look at the families mixed in with the politicians and aides moving swiftly between their business. Cars honked in the distance, but he barely heard them.

The paper occupied all of his thoughts, he lifted it up to read the words again and again. No! He would know if England was really gone. It wasn’t possible. His shoe hitting against stone brought him back to reality. He looked up, the marble columns of the Lincoln Memorial rising imposingly into the sky. With bewilderment he looked at his watch. The afternoon had progressed far faster than he’d imagined. With a deep breath, he climbed the stairs. He could remember the opening of the monument clearly, all of the pomp and circumstance that had come with it. He’d stood with President Harding as it had been revealed. America could remember Robert Lincoln, who had been so young when his father had been assassinated looking up with his aging eyes. He took each step slowly until he was enveloped in the shade. He paused, then looked up.

America tilted his head back, looking up into the face of the president that had kept him from falling completely to pieces. Lincoln would be amused by such a massive monument to himself. America leaned back onto one of the columns, mind going blank. He missed them, the Lincolns. His relationship with England had been so new then, so raw. He could remember how much it had hurt when he’d woken up alone.

And now he was really alone.

England might be gone.

He’d been so worried about getting an answer out of him. For England to say that he loved him back. America walked abruptly away from the column to a bench in the shadowed recesses of the space. He leaned his head back, seeing the words of the Gettysburg address scrawled up the wall. He wished he could remember the way Lincoln’s voice had sounded. He knew people were glancing his way in concern, but so far no one had come to ask if he was all right. They wandered in and out, probably thinking he was some teenage kid overcome with emotion. America let a sardonic laugh bubble up in his throat. He _was_ overcome.

He’d let his love slip through his fingers.

Just like that everything he’d hoped for with England had turned to dust. He’d been over here, angrily chewing on the fact that England couldn’t love him back and... why did that even matter? He was England! His kindness and heart had never been in words in their entire existence together. It had been a touch, a smile, a look. America closed his eyes and pictured the way England’s eyes would soften when he saw him for the first time after a separation. The way his face would grow tender right before he asked for a kiss.

Folding up his knees, America pressed his face against his legs. He knew he was becoming a sight, but he didn’t care. Thinking of his face had brought up the look of utter distress that had crossed England’s face when America had asked him what they were doing. It had been so open and despairing that America couldn’t believe that he’d actually walked away. He should have pulled England into his arms and not let go. If he’d stayed by his side maybe England wouldn’t be somewhere in the Atlantic. Or worse.

Gone forever.

His throat constricted and he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“Are you okay, young man?” A warm hand descended on his back and America startled. He looked up into the face of an elderly woman, who gave him a small smile. “It surely cannot be all that bad.”

America realized he’d been crying and pulled his glasses off his face and swiped at his eyes. “My, uh... my...” How to describe him? “I have a friend in England... in the RAF... he was... he was shot down.” The words coming out of his mouth sent another spasm of grief through him. It wasn’t possible. They had to be wrong! Maybe England had just gotten picked up by someone else? That thought froze him cold. If one of France’s people hadn’t found him that would mean one of Germany’s. He sniffed and pressed his face back into his knees. The old woman stayed there, quiet.

“My son... died in the Great War. Killed in France right before the end. My husband... died on the _Lusitania._ ”

Lifting his head, America looked at her. He could see in her face the doubts of his people. They’d lost people they loved. The last war in Europe was fresh in their minds too. “I’m sorry.”

He moved over so she could sit. She folded her hands in her lap, picking at the tips of her gloved left hand with her right. “My son believed in the cause. Wouldn’t stop talking about it before he left. Then a young man arrived at my door one day in a uniform and the notice that my son was gone.”

The last days of the war had been so much waiting. America shuddered at the memory of the trenches and the noise. The noise would still come through some nights and startle him out of sleep. Not as bad as others, but... that war had wounded them all. Who knew what this one was going to do. “We defended the world against tyrants.”

“And we likely will again.” She took a deep breath. “It will make me sad to see you boys go.”

“How do you know I’ll go?”

“Because you have the same look as my son. It doesn’t matter what the politicians will say, you’ll want to fight for your friend.” A sad smile came across her face and she sighed. “A few weeks before they told me he had died he’d sent me a letter. Married a British girl before getting shipped to France. I was so furious that I hadn’t gotten to be at their wedding.”

“What happened to her?”

“She’s fine for now. I’m trying to convince her to come and bring my granddaughter with her before... well, before things can get any worse.”

“I hope that they do.” He offered her as much of a smile as he could muster. He hadn’t been able to protect England... and he wanted to protect his people. And the American people. And the people in all of the countries suffering. Was it going to be possible? The woman patted him on the shoulder, squeezing his arm lightly before standing back up.

“It won’t feel this way forever,” she said. “You have to do what you can.”

“Yes, ma’am. I will.”

She gave him one last smile and walked back across the monument, pausing to look up at Mr. Lincoln’s statue. America looked at his old president’s face. He was sitting on the side where Mr. Lincoln’s hand curled into a fist of contemplation. America mimicked the motion, one leg sliding to the floor. He was done waiting. Waiting and hesitating had led to this.

On his feet in an instant, America was soon off to the nearest street and hailing a taxi. The car drove him back to his residence where he pulled the phone from the receiver so hard that he knocked the entire thing off his desk. The heavy black phone fell with a thud and a ring to the floor. He had to take a deep breath before he could remember the number of the connection he needed. The connections clicked over the lines, the operators voices sending his call down the line.

The phone rang. “Hello?” It was his brother’s voice, soft. “You heard?”

“Yeah. When are you taking that next shipment of planes that I sold you?”

“Alfred...”

“When!?”

The silence on the other end of the line was painfully long. He was expecting to hear the operator any moment saying that the call had been lost. “Next week.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“That’s not--”

“It’s not a request, Matt. I’m coming. I have to see...” His throat closed up and he couldn’t choke out the rest of the sentence. _I have to see if he’s really gone._

“It’s against your laws.”

“Only if I get caught. I’ll see you in a few days.”

“Alfred...” America hung up the phone before Canada could protest any further. He ran upstairs and began packing his bags. He was done waiting.

Waiting may have cost him everything.

***

_July 15, 1940_

_Dover, England_

America ran down the hall of the military hospital. He caught more than a few stares in his RAF uniform. No one had wanted to tell him the room number, but it only took distracting one of the volunteers so that he could grab a look at the room list. He got into the hall and nearly ran headlong into Canada. He blocked his path and grabbed him by the shoulders. “He can’t see you here, we don’t know what it will do when he’s in such a fragile state.”

“But...”

“If you want to take care of him you need to go. He could wake up at any time.”

Anger flashed through America. He hadn’t been genuinely angry with Canada in decades. “He washed up on the damn beach, Matt! He’d been out there in the water for five days! What if he’d never come out! I...”

The harsh sound of shushing. “Don’t raise your voice, this is a hospital.”

Taking a deep breath, America said, “I’m asking nicely.”

“You’re demanding and it’s not happening. Al--” He pushed Canada out of the way and went to England’s bedside. He was hooked up to the machines and so pale. America leaned forward, pressing his lips against his forehead. _Wake up, sweetheart._ Canada’s hands grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back. “You have to go.”

“But...”

“You’re not helping him by being here. Just go.”

“Matt, please.”

“No, I’m taking care of him like you asked me to. That means getting you out of here right now.” America’s stare was met by a hard gaze. He’d seen that look on Canada’s face before and they both usually ended up bleeding.

“You better send word to me when he wakes up or so help me, Matt...”

“I’m not that cold.”

“If you see Francis...” Canada’s face changed. The sheer sorrow that stretched across it had America immediately regretting his words. “You haven’t heard from him?”

“He’s... one minute he’s there and then the next... he’s trying to hold all of his people at once. Even the ones that gave in.”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

America put his hands on Canada’s shoulders. “I’ll look for him.”

Canada shrugged away and went back to England’s bedside, turning his back towards him. “You can’t do that.”

“I can do whatever I want.”

Canada sniffed, swiping at his face with one hand. “Except be here. So get out before I make you.”

America stepped towards him, grabbing his brother around the shoulders and pulling him into a hug. They didn’t speak, just held on, Canada hooking his hands into the arms of America’s jacket. The seconds ticked by with the beep of the machine tracking England’s heart and the noise just outside the hospital room.

“You have to go, Alfred.”

“Be safe, Matt.” It took a lot to pull away. As America paused in the door, he took one last look at England. “You better wake up.” His voice cracked at the end and he turned down the hallway. Outside the hospital he squeezed onto a tramcar to take him back to the train station. He could already imagine the sounds of the rounds blasting from the guns on the plane.

There would be a few fewer German fighters when he was through with them.

***

_July 22, 1940_

_London, England_

“Hitler is once again asking for peace terms.” Lord Halifax seethed from the door to England's office before England gestured for him to enter. Pulling the glasses from off his nose, he pinched edges of his mouth had the foreign minister pausing halfway into the room, uncertainty his mask. England pulled the shawl tighter over his shoulders. He’d woken up days ago and insisted on getting back to work. The chill of the ocean was still clinging to his bones despite his best efforts to warm himself.

“Of course he did. Come in.” England put his pen down and leaned back in his seat with a sigh. If it wasn’t one thing it was another. He looked to the cold cup of tea at the corner of his desk and Halifx tugged on the cord before stopping at the back of the chair and hesitated as he took in the scene in front of him.

“Maybe I should come back at a different time.”

England shook his head, a heavy sigh suffering his posture. “Just sit. There is no such thing asbetter time when a nation is at war.” He shook his head again. He needed a stiff drink and a good night’s sleep. He wasn’t sure when the next time either of those would be.

“So, Hitler?”

“Yes. The asshole put forth another peace attempt. As if we would simply forgive all of the problems that he has caused us. I have absolutely no plans in surrendering to him at all or granting him any peace terms. He has to acknowledge that he was daft in challenging the British Empire and he shall suffer those consequences.” He leaned back in his chair. “And this is where the special operatives espionage force comes in. We will find out what is going on, when and where and fuck them over.”

***

_August 9, 1940_

_London, England_

“My head...” England stumbled, the eye watering pain came out of nowhere. His knees cracked against the pavement of the drive outside the palace. He had been going out for a short ride from the stables. Something that he had always done. He felt Lilbet’s hands on his back. Something was going wrong again. Then the shouting started. Another blitz. Stomach cramps. He was being pulled off the ground, hoisted up beneath his shoulders.

“Birmingham, Arthur.” George’s voice sounded in his ear and bodies pressed around him.“Birmingham is being bombed.”

“Call it Midland,” he mumbled, tongue thick like he had had too much whiskey. “Confuse the bastards. Call it Midland... don’t let them know that they have succeeded. Never name the places. Fuck them.”

_***_

_August 12, 1940_

_Over the English Channel_

The radios had been getting better, but they still crackled horribly at times. America held the flight plan in his mind. It would only break if they had to dog fight, secretly he wished for it. He hoped that he would get a chance to put the Luftwaffe on the run all the way back to their country. It all felt so close when he was here in the air. One moment he was over England’s lands and then it was the ocean. If it wasn’t for the Nazi fighters headed straight for him he could fly straight into France. America itched to dart straight in, but the British pilots had been trained to fly in a v-formation. America felt like they could be as unwieldy as a flock of geese. He had taken a position above and everyone else had been happy to let him take it. Most men who flew it were the first to go down without the rest of the squadron even knowing.

It was cloudy and it made America’s heart race. Germany’s planes were faster. They could drop out of the sky and then roar off in seconds after they’d strafed the front of another plane and they would be crashing into the water with a plume of black smoke trailing behind.

Movement. In a flash he was off, instinct and training taking over. He dogged the other plane until he finally got its tail in his sights. Boom. Another one down.

“Red Five, on your six.” America banked, turning the plane into a dive that caused it’s gears to screech in protest.

“C’mon, you got this.” The Hurricanes didn’t handle the same as the P-40, but America managed to pull up, the speed giving him a thrill even more than the strafing fire that completely missed.

America checked his fuel gauge, quickly doing the math in his head. There never was enough time on the flights. He looked around, searching out the RAF symbol on the bottom of the wings. The glare was blinding and his eyes closed instinctually. What the hell?

It took less than a second to realize that it had been a round going through the cockpit, instinct causing him to bank again. The hole left behind was through his canopy, the wind whistling through the hole and then the spot in the side. It hadn’t exploded, just gone straight through.

There wasn’t even time to breathe a sigh of relief before his mind couldn’t focus on anything but the battle.

It was about twenty minutes later as his engine stuttered to a stop on the makeshift runway, built out of a field. He pulled his flight helmet off before sliding back the cockpit glass. One of the flight engineers hopped up, eyebrows raising at the sight of the holes. “You’re a lucky bloke, Jones.”

“Huh?” The man tugged at his trouser leg and America looked down. The round had singed the leg of his flight suit. “Does that mean you’re gonna buy me a beer, Cooper?”

“If I bought you a beer every time you came back, Yank, I’d be broke.”

“Fair enough. I’ll buy you one then.” America grinned and started off toward the barracks. He turned for a moment and looked to the skies. England was probably up there or just coming back in, only a few airfields away.

He wondered if he even knew he was there.

_***_

_August 24, 1940_

_Dover, England_

America leaned back in his seat at the pub. It was one of the rare nights off and he was trying to savor it. He stared at the beer in front of him, wondering why he’d left it half drunk. Was it the first or the third? He rolled the safety pen back and forth, the flash of the gold filling mechanism shining in the electric lights on each of its turns. The paper in front of him was still blank. He’d meant to write a letter. A letter to England, but he couldn’t seem to manage it.

He wanted him to know he was here, but not think that he’d come all that way just to try and get his affections back. It wasn’t why he was here. He put the cap back on the pen with a sigh, half-tempted to lay his head down on the table.

“Can you turn up the radio?” A voice called out over the crowd of the pub. Everyone fell silent as the news rang out loud and clear.

London had been bombed.

America didn’t realize he was standing until the crackle at the end of the broadcast signalled it was over. The human silence that followed was punctuated by the ticking of the clock on the back of the bar. It was as if everyone was afraid to move. If they moved that made it real. Something had changed.

It took the air raid siren calling them back to the airfield to wake them up.

America snatched up the half-attempted letter. There was no point in that now, not if England wouldn’t be able to read it. He stuffed the paper and pen in his pocket and hurried with the rest of the pilots to the small military truck and loaded back up.

_I’m coming, Arthur._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! We're still doing some research and clean up on some of the following chapters, so it may be a little bit between them. Don't worry though, we're really excited for this story and can't wait to really get it moving!
> 
> If you've been enjoying our story, please leave us a comment (we love reading them!) or a kudo!


	4. I Should Have Kissed You Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> England discovers that America is defying his own laws to fight for the RAF. America wants to tell him that he's missed him and wants to make it better. With the shadow of the Battle of Britain hanging over them, can either words be heard?

_August 25th, 1940_

_Southern England_

“We have been at an air and sea blockade since July! Since August they've been targeting anything related to the Royal Air Force! Fighter command, infrastructure and now plane factories! When the bloody fuck is intelligence going to give us what we need to take them down!?” England bellowed as he chucked his fighter pilot cap down the table, glaring at the officers who wouldn't look him in the eye.

England grabbed the edge of the table as his world tilted. He had just finished a long flight, but it wasn't the fight that was giving him problems. He had been nauseous since the Battle of Britain had begun between the plane fighting and the day raids from the bombers. He had barely made it out of his own plane before vomiting up bile into the grass. He was stretched too thin. He didn't bother eating anymore.

“The bloody krauts already took over France and the lower countries. That leaves us to completely face them at the sea and now in the air and across the land. We are the only driving force currently left in Europe. We need this to end yesterday!” He glared at the men as static became choppy over the radio in the corner. The radio technician reached up to turn the knobs, the static clearing into voices. More pilots requesting permission to land.

A static voice came on the radio. “This is Eagle 1 requesting a landing strip.” England stared at it. There had been several Americans that had defied their laws that said not to get involved, but it was the familiarity of the accent that struck him. He knew that voice as if it was his own.

“That bloody fucking Yank!” England kicked the table, upsetting the tea that had been placed in front of him just seconds earlier. He stormed out of the tiny office as an engine sounded loud seconds before plane roared down the temporary runway. The green lawn that had once been the pride of the lords that had lived in the hall, had been turned to a muddy field so the fighters would have space to land. England jogged out onto the field, ignoring the questions of the mechanics that were coming out to take care of the planes on the ground.

England caught up just as the Hurricane rolled to a stop with the other fighters. The engine powered down and the mechanics ran up to it. The canopy slid open, the pilot stepping out on the ladder. “The stick wasn’t behaving on the way back. Might need some oil.” He pulled off his flight helmet as he got to the ground. He hadn’t seen England yet.

“You are such an arse!” England growled, shoving his hands into America’s chest as he reached him.

America blinked. “Shit. I thought you were at one of the other airfields.”

England bristled. “Oh, what so you're avoiding me in my own country now!?” That hurt.

“Just thought I’d surprise you in a different way. But surprise! I’ve joined the RAF. Told you I was going to fly a Hurricane! I really want to try one of those Spitfires.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Not long. Helped Matt ferry the new planes.”

“Is that why Matthew's here too?”

“He was. Pretty sure he headed back down to where his troops are.” America paused. “Hasn’t been the same after Francis surrendered, but you probably know that.”

“But he's standing right here.” He gestured to the identical man next to him. Canada was always quiet and in their flight uniforms they looked even more similar than usual.

America turned to look where England was staring. “Matt’s not here, Arthur.” He took a few steps forward and caught England by the elbow as he began to falter. “C’mon, I’m starving. We’ll get something to eat.”

England pulled his arm away. “I'm not hungry, but all right.” Sitting down sounded nice.

“There’s gotta be some halfway decent grub somewhere.” America stayed by his side as they walked down the lawn towards the old house that the officers had taken as headquarters. No one questioned England as he came through the door. “Can we get some food in Kirkland’s quarters?”

“Just do it.” England sighed as the cook raised a brow at the American accent. England swallowed a second sigh. If this day already wasn’t complicated enough! He checked his watch. He would have one more patrolling flight today. He lead America up the stairs to the top floor and the door furthest down the hall.

The room was simple, a bed pushed up against one wall and a desk against the other. America dropped down on the bed, stretching. “I haven’t flown in combat since the Great War. I forgot how it felt. Planes are better now though.”

England leaned against the desk, arms crossed over his chest. America was acting normal. Just like before everything had happened. Why? His head was killing him and he couldn’t puzzle it out. “Why are you here?”

“Because I’m tired of waiting.” He looked at England. “I’m in this. Not officially yet, but everyone knows whose side I’m gonna be on. So, Alfred F. Jones slipped through Canada with a few other pilots and now I’m here. When I heard you’d been shot down, I decided I wasn’t going to wait anymore.”

England closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. It wasn’t uncommon for them to meet with disasters on the battlefield. America hadn’t come running during any other war. “Idiot.” There was a knock on the door and one of the privates popped in with a tray. A plate and two cups of tea.

“My Lord?”

“Just leave it on the bed and go. Thank you,” England ordered and the boy did as he was told.

America looked over the light fare and plucked up a piece of the sandwich. “You should have some.”

England shook his head. “No, I am not hungry. The tea is fine.”

America stuffed the rest of his piece in his mouth. “Are you going to say anything?”

“What do you want me to say? You showed up out of nowhere in one of my planes.” The smell of the food was making his stomach turn. He leaned against the back of his chair.

“I don’t know. Yell, be happy, surprised? If you’re thinking I’m here just to get back in your bed, don’t worry about it.”

“Really?” The room was spinning again. Dammit, he should have sat down. “You want to see yelling?”

“Well, I’d prefer you be happy to see me, but I know you too well.” America sat up. “Arthur?” He got up and put his hand on his shoulder to steady him. “You should be over there.” He tilted his head toward the bed.

“Your hand is heavy,” England muttered. His collar was damp and sticking to his neck. He'd have to change his shirt again.

America’s hand slid down his arm instead. “Not so heavy now.”

“Alfred, you need to do one of two things.” The spots were back, blocking out part of his vision.

“What?”

“Either move or catch. I have about ten seconds of consciousness left.”

America didn’t respond, but England felt his arms coming around him before he lost his grip on the world. The room was no longer spinning when England's blinked slowly awake. He stared up at a bland wooden ceiling and shifted, body aching beneath blankets. He could sense someone nearby, not quite touching him.

“Hello?” His thoughts were slow. Like a fog had settled over his mind.

“Don’t try and get up. I took your patrol, just got back. Chased ‘em back to the mainland.” America’s voice was nearby, sitting at the edge of his bed.

“You what?!” England lurched upwards, immediately regretting doing so. Clutching at his head, he curled on his side. It would pass in a couple of moments. It always did.

“I doubt Ludwig or Gilbert was in any of those planes. Besides, they would have had to get real close to have seen me anyway. If anyone asks, I’m Matt.” He smoothed his hand along England’s arm, trying to calm him.

“Why didn't you wake me?” he groaned.

“Because you didn’t need to wake up for it. They’re getting held off. He’s gonna have to think twice about trying something else.”

England pressed his face into the pillow with a sigh. He felt awful. He had no energy. He didn't realize how bad it was until he went into his normal July coma and woke up to find out he had actually been unconscious for two weeks. Things had only gotten worse from there “It was my patrol. It’s my war.”

“And you crash your plane again and have to get fished out of the Channel _again_? You know how scared I was when they told me you’d been shot down?” America clenched his jaw, as though he were afraid to say anything more in that regard. “You aren’t eating again, right?”

England flinched. “That's not entirely true.” He didn't know why he admitted that.

“That’s why I smuggled you in something.” America got up from his seat and went to rummage through a bag that England hadn’t noticed before. He brought back several jars and sat them by England’s face. “Peanut butter and three kinds of jams. I know this sort of stuff is getting tight over here.”

England stared at them in surprise. “That's illegal.” To his even further surprise, his stomach rumbled.

“Only if I get caught. I went downstairs to get you some of those rolls from mess.” The bread appeared along with a butter knife. “You know, if you’re hungry.”

England was split down the middle. Part of him without a doubt wanted to eat, he was starving, but the other half was terrified of what would happen. He was so sick of throwing up. “Thank you.” He sat up and allowed America to press them into his hands. “It's not like I haven't been eating. I ate last week.”

“You need to eat something everyday, remember?” America smiled at him. “Consider this payback for when I wasn’t eating.”

England gestured rudely. “I just toss everything up. There's no point in waste.” He pried open the jars.

“Eat slow. I mean, even my stomach turns at some of your army rations.” He gave him a joking smile.

England scowled at him, hiding a groan of pleasure as he took a bite. “What's the catch?”

“You think I’m trying to bribe you for something?”

“Not bribe, but everybody wants something this is war.” England tossed manners to the side and licked blood red jam from his fingers.

“I want to stay and help fight until I’m here officially, then I’ll have to go with my people.”

England paused before biting the tip of his thumb as his mind raced. “And how long do you think that will be?”

America shifted in his seat and ran a hand through his hair, further messing it beyond what the flight cap had started. He adjusted his glasses. “I don’t know. My boss is being careful and Congress won’t vote for it right now. The Isolationists aren’t budging.”

“Of course.” He took another bite before glancing out the window. Disappointment sank into his stomach, but also a sense of relief. He couldn’t think about that right now, protecting America too. He was supposed to fly back tonight. He was late already.

“My pilots are going to make a difference back home. People love stories about heroes.” America stretched out his legs to set them on the bed. “So, can I stay?”

England gestured to the jams and peanut butter. “So, that's what the bribery was for?”

“Or I was just giving it to you because I wanted to.” America looked down at his lap, folding his hands together.

“So, that's what the bribery was for,” England repeated slowly, stressing out each syllable.

“It’s half-gift, half-bribe. I really did want to bring you something that would be easier for you to eat. If it means you’ll let me keep flying airplanes, then that works too.”

“Then you can keep flying. I accept your bribery.” He tightened the lids on the jam. He wanted to keep eating, but he was certain that would make him sick.

Looking up at him, America’s eyes were a little wide. Then he smiled. “Glad to hear it.”

England watched him for a moment. What now? An idea crept into his mind. “You do know that if you are indeed a member of the RAF that makes me your commanding officer?”

America looked amused at that. “I’ll try not to think too hard about the last time you were my commanding officer. I hope you don’t take advantage of me.”

“I have never taken advantage of such a situation!” England gasped in offense. It was terrifying how easily they fell back into such easy banter. A small part of his mind reminded him that this wasn't allowed anymore, but he ignored it. America was here and he had come for him.

America chuckled. “I’m just kidding. I’ll try to keep my insubordination to a point where I don’t get thrown out.” He smiled at him.

“Otherwise, I would have to punish you.” England stretched out across the mattress his body relaxing with relief.

America’s leg twitched as England’s outstretched arms fell across them. “As long as it’s not the firing squad,” he teased.

“No, it would be far more personal.” England's voice dropped an octave. He could think of so many things he wanted, what they could do. His eyes drifted shut, imagining the things he couldn’t ask for anymore.

America looked at him, hesitating. He swallowed and then rewet his lips with his tongue. “What would you do?”

“The punishment will fit the crime. How am I supposed to know?”

“Guess I’ll have to see what you do, then.” America watched him. “I hope your CO status doesn’t mean we can’t fraternize. When you feel better I was hoping we could go out for a beer.”

“We shall see.” England yawned, he was full with no signs of hurling just yet. His fingers began to draw sleepy patterns on America's calf where his hand rested. “Whenever we see each other again.”

“Are you headed out, then?”

England traced a star on America's knee before starting roses on the man's thigh. “Not just yet.”

Taking as shaky breath, America said, “Arthur, you should stop, ‘cause it’s gonna be real hard not to touch you back.”

“You act like that is such a bad thing,” England whispered.

America reached down, sliding his fingers across the back of England’s hand. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing. Just maybe the wrong thing.”

“Wrong, huh?” England's fingers paused. “Interesting.”

“I realized something while I was ferrying over here. That... well, that we can’t try and fix things between us if there’s no you. So, I’m not asking you for anything. Other than to keep flying for you of course.” He squeezed England’s hand.

“All right,” he murmured. What was he supposed to say to that?

“We’ll take it as it comes.” He pulled England’s hand toward him, his mouth warm against the back. The siren signal for the pilots to make ready made them both jump. “I guess that’s my cue. Get some rest, Arthur. I’ll see you after.”

“Bloody hell, you will!” England swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

America paused at the door. “That’s what I said I would do when I signed up. Fight.”

“And the next squadron that leaves tonight is under my command.”

“I still have to go and make sure everything is in order. You know that.”

“I didn't say you weren't going, I just said I'm going, too.” He pushed off the bed with a grunt and grabbed his coat. The room was holding steady, he would be able to go through with the flight.

America stayed in the doorway as England moved to go through it. He pressed a hand against England’s stomach stopping his progress. “I know that I can’t convince you otherwise, so... I’ve got your back.”

“You...” England stared at the hand for a moment before looking up at him, his own hand reached up and pressed his fingers along his jawline. “I...” He swallowed. America had kissed him first. His hand but still... two could play that game. “Get to work, love.” He pushed past and headed for the stairs.

***

America couldn’t move for a moment, the track that England’s fingers had left on his cheek feeling like a brand. He’d thought for sure England was going to kiss him, but then he’d backed away. America shook his head, trying not to get distracted. If they got blasted out of the sky there wouldn’t be any seeing what that look was about. “You know the words, just put ‘em together, sweetheart,” he whispered under his breath before hurrying out after him to prep for the battle.

***

_August 26, 1940_

_Airspace over Berlin_

_*We had our first big air-raid of the war last night. The sirens sounded at twelve twenty a.m. and the all-clear came at three twenty-three a.m. For the first time British bombers came directly over the city, and they dropped bombs. The concentration of anti-aircraft fire was the greatest I’ve ever witnessed. It provided a magnificent, terrible sight. And it was strangely ineffective. Not a plane was brought down; not one was even picked up by the searchlights, which flashed back and forth frantically across the skies throughout the night...*_

England's lips curled as he pulled the nose of the plane skyward, Berlin rushing away from him as he pulled himself physically and mentally away from the city. His breath puffed white out in front of him in little personal clouds. Let them suffer, suffer as they had done to his people. This was war dammit. He pushed away from the small surge of guilt that chewed away at his belly.He didn’t need to feel bad. They had started this. The leather of his gloves creaked in response to him squeezing the stick. He swallowed,tossing a glance down below. Berlin was on fire. Let them have a taste of their own medicine.

***

_September 2, 1940_

_Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean_

America stood at the porthole, watching the endless blue of the ocean. It had never called him the way it did some of the other nations, but he could acknowledge it was beautiful. Currently, it was a place of great danger. Not for himself, not yet. But for this ship in a matter of hours. The transfer was going to be complete soon. He’d promised ships for England and he was bringing them. They would get to British waters before they were official, that way they couldn’t be sunk without any repercussions. When they were signalled by the German U-boat, America had answered back. After all, they weren’t at war. Not yet, anyway. He also had a feeling about it. Someone he knew was there and wanted to talk to him.

“This is a nice ship, Alfred.” America turned away at the sound of Prussia’s voice. He was wearing his naval uniform. He shrugged out of his thick coat, revealing the dark blues and gold of the _Kriegsmarine._ America leaned against the wall, crossing his arms, the white of his own uniform in strict contrast.

“Yeah, it is. And it’s neutral.”

“Why do you think I didn’t just put a torpedo right into the side? You didn’t know I was there until I let you know that I was.” He stepped through the doorway and towards the narrow table in the officer’s galley, dropping into a seat and flipping his hat into the center. “I’m not that nice.”

America stepped away from the wall, putting his hands on the back of one of the metal chairs. “No, I guess not. What do you want?”

“To warn you.”

America scoffed. “Warn me? Why?”

“Sentiment.” Prussia looked up at him and his face was so blank, America couldn’t tell if he was kidding or being serious.

“Meaning you care if I get hurt?”

Prussia leaned back in his seat, stretching his arms behind his head. “Meaning my little brother has changed and some days he terrifies me. I’m telling you, if you can stay out of this. You should.” He put his boots up on the table. “And this? This is you not staying out of it.”

“I can take my ships where I want.”

“Except you’re taking these straight into a British port and handing them over.” Prussia laughed. “C’mon, you’re not the only one with spies.”

America decided he wouldn’t address it. Prussia might be guessing after all. “So what? You’re trying to protect me from Ludwig? I can handle him. From what I hear, Arthur dealt him a pretty big blow just a week ago.”

Prussia sighed. “As much as I would have liked you two to go head to head at some point, I don’t want it to happen in this war.”

“Right, because I would crush him.”

Prussia raised an eyebrow. “I liked you better when you knew that Arthur could grind you under his boot and still fought him anyway. That was more admirable. Ludwig is... I don’t know who he’s going to be on the other side of this. I don’t know who any of us will be.”

America sat down in the chair, confused by the version of Prussia in front of him. Ever since he was a colony he’d known him to be cocksure. “Since when do you get scared of a fight?”

“I’m all for going in headfirst, but not when it’s the stupid thing to do. So don’t do the stupid thing.”

“I’m not being stupid.”

“It was cute when you were a lovesick colony. But a nation putting himself at risk over a warm place to stick it isn’t the way things work.”

“Don’t talk about him like that.”

“He’s my enemy. I’ll talk about him any way that I like.” Prussia sighed again, his boots dropping to the floor with a thud. “And you’re sentimental to a fault.”

“I’m not. And I could save your brother. And you. I’ll stop your nasty boss and then we can move on.”

A smile slid across Prussia’s face. “That’s sweet. We’re pulverizing your beloved Arthur and you still want to save us.”

“That’s what I do.”

Prussia laughed. “Oh, Alfred. You haven’t changed.” He pushed himself up from his seat. “Go on, I won’t stop you from bringing your beloved presents. I look forward to making them disappear beneath the waves.” He picked up his hat and plopped it back onto his white hair.

“I don’t expect you to hold back.” _Just because you were like a big brother to me..._ America thought, but didn’t say aloud.

“I’m not going to be so sentimental next time, _kleiner bruder._ The next time we meet, we may be enemies.”

“I’ll try not to be either.”

“You were never good at that.” Prussia was halfway through the door when he turned back. “I don’t want to see what it’ll look like if you do. _Auf wiedersehen._ ”

“Goodbye.”

***

_September 7, 1940_

_London, England_

_Evening_

They’d fought hard, but it hadn’t been enough, too many planes had gotten through. America had slipped off the airfield, not caring if it was going to leave people asking questions. He needed to find England. Especially because all of the information pointed to the Luftwaffe coming back. He didn’t know what drew him to England’s London house, but it felt like the right place to start. The first bombing had mostly hit in the ports, but America could smell the smoke. He banged on the door when he arrived, hoping for an answer.

“Alfred?” America turned, surprised to see his ambassador wandering the streets.

“Gil, did you see the guy who lives here? I need to find him.”

“I didn’t see much. I’m on my way to Downing Street since it seems we are in a lull. Mr. Churchill called me.”

“I’ll come with if he doesn’t answer his door.” He banged on the wood again.

The door was yanked open and he was faced with a frowning Andrew. “Oh, it's you Master Jones.”

“Is Arthur here?”

“Perhaps.”

America felt anger replace the panic he was feeling. He wanted to shake the manservant for even thinking of playing games. “Don’t fuck with me. Where is he?”

Andrew gave him a cool look. It was obvious that he didn't care for him. “No one has been permitted to see my master.”

“I don’t care. I’m seeing him and you can get out of the way or I can go through you.”

“If you have him that deep in his cups again, personified nation or not, be damned I will put a bullet in you,” the man bit out and pushed off the door frame, and walked up the narrow stairs towards England's bedroom.

America frowned at him, following him up the stairs. He hadn’t known what England’s reaction had been. He’d drunk a bit himself after that night. Andrew paused outside England’s door and America brushed past him. “Arthur...” He went immediately to his bedside.

England's eyes cracked open and he looked up at him. “What are you doing here, Alfred?” He was pale and sweating.

“I came back and heard that they got through. I couldn’t stay away.” He took England’s hand.

England flinched. “Ah, sorry,” he murmured when he saw America’s expression. “Everything is just really sensitive right now.” He took a deep breath. “They were going to send the Royal Guard to get me but I told them it would hurt too much to move right now,” he croaked. “They are guessing just over 200 tons of ammo dropped and over 300 people were killed immediately. I don't know the numbers on the injured.”

“What are they thinking?” America’s voice was choked. “I could see the smoke when we came back in. We shot down so many of them, but it wasn’t enough.”

“Who knows it’s war?” England swallowed, shifting uncomfortably.

“What can I do? I... I’ve already gone AWOL might as well keep it up.” He lay his head down on the bed, sniffing.

“Nothing, you're not even supposed to be here,” England murmured.

“I am here, though. Before Winant got here, Kennedy tried to get me to go back with him when he was recalled as ambassador. I refused.”

“I don't know Alfred...I can't,” he murmured. “I need to sleep.”

“Then I’ll stay here with you. Sleep.” America didnt know when he had fallen asleep. But it was a scream that tore him awake.

England was convulsing on the bed. His muscles locked, violent, rhythmic convulsions that slammed the bed against the wall. His eyes rolled back, eyelids fluttering rapidly.

He could hear an air raid siren blaring in the distance, the sound of bombs going off. America didn’t know what to do, not sure if touching him would hurt or help. The house shook, plaster coming off the ceiling. America tried to grab him so he could take him to shelter.

Hands grabbed America’s and Andrew barked at him. “We can't move him right now!” He grabbed the corner of the blanket and grabbed England rolling him on his side. “It’s too dangerous!”

“Then you go. He and I can’t die. Not in the same way you can. I’ll take care of him. Go! I’ll keep him safe.”

“I'm staying,” Andrew said firmly, staring at England's face. England's jaw loosened and Andrew grabbed a corner of the blanket, shoving it into his mouth with a litany of curses, yanking his hand back. “Don't hold him down you'll hurt him,” he ordered. Minutes passed and England went limp.

“This happened before?” America stared at him helplessly as the noise continued in the distance.

“No. But my brother has a neurological problem called epilepsy so I've seen this before,” he muttered. “Now we can move him. I don't know how long he'll be out.” He peered at the sheets. “He kept his bowels so that's good.”

“C’mon Arthur.” America scooped him up, blanket and all. “Where’s the nearest shelter?”

“We won't have time, we go to the basement here. The neighborhood one hasn't finished being built.”

America cursed. “Let’s go then.” He started out of the room, as another boom rocked the building. They got through to the downstairs and America kept hold of England, unwilling to let him go. Andrew scurried over to a door on the kitchen wall. “The basement is down here. Hurry. I must go look for others in need of shelter and send them here.”

Even though he’d been angry with the man, he didn’t like the idea of him going outside with the bombs falling. “Let’s get Arthur to the basement. I can go.”

“No. I'm part of the rescue team. You keep my Master safe.” He shook his head.

“He’ll be expecting you back,” America said. He could see a stubborn determination in the man’s shoulders. He pulled open the door and started down the narrow stairs. At the bottom, he went to the farthest corner and sank down to the floor. He cradled England in his lap, flinching at every explosion. Hours passed before there was silence. All of London seemed to be holding its breath. Big Ben began to chime the first hour when England twitched, blinking blearily.

“What's going on?” he croaked, disoriented.

America nearly broke into tears as England woke up. He touched his face gently. “There was another bombing.”

“Alfred, what's wrong?” His words slurred slightly.

America shook his head. “How are you feeling? Can you move?”

“I'm tired,” he murmured. touching Americas cheeks. “Wet.”

“You scared me,” America admitted. He gathered England up closer to him so he could press his face against his shoulder.

“I'm fine. I'm fine, Alfred.”

“I’m gonna knock him out of the air.”

“Look at me,” he murmured. He was so tired.

America pulled his face back. There was dust in England’s hair and he tried to brush it off. Anything to distract himself from the barrage of emotions going through him.

“I'm all right. I just fell asleep.” He stroked Americas’ cheek.

“No, you... you didn’t feel that? It looked... You didn’t just fall asleep. You had a fit and passed out.”

“Is that why I'm so tired?” England frowned, head drooping against his chest. “I'll just take a nap and be fine.”

“We should go somewhere safer.” His body shook as the adrenaline drained out of it. America felt tired too. Cold. He hoped his people were on the lines, calling others back home.

“Sleeping pads are stored somewhere down here. We can stay.” He yawned and tensed.

“What hurts?” America asked, careful not to move as England stiffened in his arms.

“Everything,” he groaned quietly. “Alfred...”

“What?”

“Stay tonight. Please.” He had no right to ask. But he couldn't be alone right now. Everything hurt and his brain was slow. He felt vulnerable.

“That’s not a question you need to ask. Should I get the sleeping pads?”

“Yes.” He didn’t move, curling further into America’s embrace. He thought he had just fallen asleep. Now America was telling him that it wasn't the case. That had never happened.

“You’re gonna have to let me go unless we’re sleeping on your basement floor.” His voice was trying to be funny, but it didn’t come out that way. “Arthur.”

“I can’t.” He was telling the truth. His limbs felt like lead.

“Just sleep. I’ve got you.”

“Mmmm.” He was warm and America was here. It didn't take long before America was alone in the darkness. It was clear that Arthur or his manservant had attempted to provide something to this space while the public shelter was being finished. He found a flashlight on one of the nearby shelves and switched it on, finding a portable radio on the shelf near their heads alongside another blanket. He pulled the blanket off to wrap around England’s sleeping form, before switching on the radio.

It took a while to get a signal, but he could hear the news reports ringing out. People being called to assist. He switched it back off. He adjusted England in his arms so he could rest his head on top of his. England smelled like dust and sweat, but America didn’t find it unpleasant. This was different than when England had been sick from war in the past. He’s never seen that happen to him. He pressed his face into his hair and held him until dawn, unable to sleep. Unable to shake the image of him writhing in pain.

It wasn't long after dawn that England shifted in his arms. “Alfred, you're going to suffocate me,” he murmured.

America moved slowly, feeling groggy from the lack of sleep. “How do you feel?”

“Better than you look.” England's brow furrowed. “What's wrong?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Don’t worry about it.” He touched England’s hair.

“Ah yes... you've only seen an air drop that one time... at Victoria's Station last time.”

“This doesn’t feel anything like that.”

“No, they are getting worse,” England murmured. “And if intelligence is correct then this is just the first day of many”

“Then I should get back to the airfield. Try and turn them back when they try again.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I'm glad you understand the English language well enough to know that word.” He slowly stretched out his limbs, waiting for any residual pain. He was sore. But nothing hurt.

“I don’t understand why you’re telling me no.”

“Because I need you to come to the palace with me.”

“Are they going to let me in the doors? Winston has been friendly to me, but I get the feeling the rest in the palace are worried about what I can do to you. Andrew almost didn’t let me in here last night.”

“Good old Andrew,” England muttered. “Yes, they'll have to let you in.”

“Do you want to go now?”

“In a moment, yes.” He wasn't sure when their fight would start again and he was going to savor it while he could.

“Okay.” America relaxed again, trying to get comfortable against the wall and the floor. He kept England wrapped his arms, reflexively pressing his nose into his hair.

“I should get bombed more often if this is what it gets me,” he teased. He recognized the mistake immediately, as America’s shoulders stiffened.

“That’s not funny.”

“I'm sorry, that was inappropriate. The bombing was probably terrifying.”

“Just put yourself in my shoes and ask yourself that question.” America tilted his head trying to catch England’s eye. “Why do you think I’m here?”

England frowned as he searched America’s face. “It’s... it’s not the bombing.”

“I couldn’t think of anything other than finding you when I heard.”

“Passing out all the time will be an inconvenience to trade partners.” England frowned.

“Do you really not get it? Why I’m breaking my own laws to be here with you?”

“I'm not really focused on that right now,” England said tightly, taking advantage that America had loosened his grip to tumble to the floor, forcing himself to his hands and knees. He needed to go to the palace.

Sighing, America got up to help him. It had almost felt like old times, safe and comforting. “C’mon, I’ll help you get to the palace.” He took England by the arm and pulled him up. “We don’t know what’s up there.”

“No,” he snapped.

“No, what?” America asked. It happened in a split second that America let go of England's arm, England dropped and America grabbed him once more.

“No, I can't stand yet.” England panicked. America helped him get back down to the floor.

“Don’t push yourself too hard,” he said. He sat down beside him and hooked his arm around England’s shoulders. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

“We need to go now.”

“I can carry you. Help you walk.”

England eyed him carefully, as if to judge whether or not it was a trick. He felt weak, emotionally. Reaching up, England wrapped his arms around America’s neck and buried his face in his shoulder.

Gently, America hooked his arms beneath him and hoisted him up. He carried him up the stairs. The bombs had missed the house, but the whole place looked shaken and covered with a thin layer of dust. There was noise outside, but it sounded several blocks over. He found England’s car and loaded him in.

“Remember what side of the road we drive on.”

“I’ve got it.” He zipped through the streets, the only other vehicles military and emergency. America half-expected to be stopped, but he didn’t have to slow until they reached the gates of the palace. The guards leaned over surprised to see America driving the car, but opened the gates as England motioned for them to do so. England leaned back in his seat with a sigh as America pulled round. He checked his watch. Time was making him nervous.

“They will take the car round,” England murmured as they pulled up to the main door.

“Where to?”

“My chambers,”England murmured as their doors were pulled open and he grabbed the handle of the car to pull himself up. He was worried about making it up the stairs.

“C’mon,” America hurried around the car and hooked England’s arm over his shoulder and hoisted him up. “Not that much farther.”

“Arthur!” voices chorused. Looking up Elizabeth, Margaret and the King and Queen rushed down the stairs towards them. It took seconds before Arthur was pulled away from the American nation.

“Thank you, Master Jones, but we have Arthur now,” the Queen gave America a small smile.

“Wait, I...” America stared after them. England looked back at him, but soon a door was closed between them.

***

_September 15, 1940_

_London, England_

_22:00, Inside a London Hotel_

The bombing had been going on all day and America felt stiff from so many hours in the cockpit. He’d seen England for only a moment, right before the first patrol. It had been the only time they’d seen each other since the bombings began. He’d been barred entry from the palace and someone always seemed to show up to keep him from getting all the way to England’s side. It started with Canada, but then it spread to Norway, then Poland - looking far more ragged than America had ever seen him - to France, but that was when he wasn’t locked in his room at England’s direction. He’d been strange ever since he surrendered. Tonight, it had been Canada, insisting that England was asleep.

He hadn’t even intended to end up here, but was dragged inside by a group of other pilots ready to celebrate. When the bombs stopped falling, everyone took a moment to breathe in life. And, for some, as much alcohol as they could.

America tipped back the glass of whiskey that had been thrust into his hand and nearly choked on it at a vision that appeared in the bottom of his glass. He tilted the cup back down and stared wide-eyed at England who had just come into the room. He was in the blues of an RAF pilot, shaking hands with those that offered. America leaned against the bar, unwilling to look away. The last time he’d seen him, he’d been pale and unable to walk. For the moment, it seemed he was feeling well enough, even if his cheeks were still a little pale. America was examining England’s uniform when he realized it was coming in his direction.

Only to be tugged to the side. America could see them now, a few of the other nations that had been taking shelter in England’s palace. Standing up, America met England’s eyes. _Come see me,_ America mouthed.England stared at him for a moment, indecision warring on his face before he swallowed. Looked away and then back at him with a small nod.

_Try._

America nodded in return, making sure that England saw him leave the bar. He made his way out into the lobby, waiting just outside the door.

"You are going to get us both in trouble." The words were hot against his shoulder, England sidling up behind him.

America turned his head, eyes meeting England’s. Their faces were close together, partially hidden in the crowds. His stomach filled with butterflies, and relief. England looked tired, but he was here, out in public. His fingers twitched, touching England’s hand. “I don’t care.”

"Well, no, but I'm the one who has to deal with the consequences." He looked around uneasily.

“I just want to know how you are. The last time I saw you... You were hurt and they wouldn’t let me see you.” America wanted to grab his hand and pull him away. He didn’t want to do anything but hold him, feel his breath rise in his chest. He curled his fingers against his palm so that he wouldn’t do it, but he didn’t know how long he would hold that conviction. “I was worried.”

"Sorry, didn't know." He shook his head, eyes darting about.

“I know... I just wanted to tell you. Arthur, I...” Movement caught his attention and his eyes were drawn over England’s shoulder. Poland had come out into the hallway and was clearly looking for England. He hadn’t spotted them yet. “Can you meet me somewhere?”

"Alfred..." He finally looked at him. "I'm not sure that's the best idea."

“I just want...” America swallowed. There was a lot that he wanted from England. He wanted to hold him close and press his nose into his hair. He wanted to remind himself what he felt like under his hands. He wanted to hear the small endearments that England used when there was no one else to hear. He wanted everything he wasn’t supposed to want. “I just want to spend a moment with you.”

“Alfred we can’t.” England shook his head again. “You’re not even supposed to be here, remember? I don’t know how many times we have to have this conversation.”

“But I am here. And I’m staying.” America watched England’s face. That touch on his cheek and then his comments in the basement after the attack had to mean something. That closeness had felt like a ghost at his side since it happened.

“You can’t stay. No one will allow it.”

“Since when does anyone tell you what to do?” America frowned. “Do you want me to go?”

“Alfred, I have a lot of people to take care of here.” His hands twisted nervously.

“Let me take care of _you_ for five minutes. There’s no law that stops me from doing that.” They were only partially hidden in the room. Too many humans around for overt affection. Too many nations that could see and get the wrong idea.

"Alfred..." England shook his head weakly. "I can take care of myself."

“I know you can, but I’m saying you don’t have to. Five minutes.” He reached out and took England’s hand for a brief moment. Damn! They’d been spotted. Poland was making his way towards England. “I’ll wait for you in the back hallway. No one will look for us there.”

England hesitated and stepped back. "I can't."

"Seriously, like, Arthur you can’t wander away like that," Poland drawled as he all but materialized beside the two. He stared at America. "Alfred..."

“Feliks.” He’d heard about what happened. Everyone had. It was Germany’s invasion of his country that had started all of this. “So, you’re staying with Arthur and the others?”

"Yea." The shortest blonde crossed his arms over his chest. "The government totally thought it would be safer that way."

America looked at England. He had stepped back, not looking at him now. “I guess it’s a little safer. At least I can get Arthur supplies here.”

Poland's lips pursed, never one to hide his emotions. "Yea, I guess.”

“It’s a fact. And when I can, I'll help you too.” America glanced at England hoping to catch his eyes and get the answer he wanted. _Meet me._

England heaved a sigh and nodded. "Come on, Feliks, I need a drink," he murmured and allowed the Polish man to drag him back towards the room.

America watched him go.

***

“Like, what is he doing here when he won’t declare for you? After all he put you through,” Poland said taking his seat beside England at the bar.

"I don't know." England shrugged. "Maybe he’s lonely."

“Serves him right.” Poland waved the bartender over for drinks. England could see how thin his wrists had become as the sleeves of his coat pulled back with the motion.

England shrugged. “He can only do so much.”

Poland glanced at him. “You’re making that face you used to make when you were adamant that nothing was going on between you and it was, like, a total lie.”

"I am not making a face!" England scowled, pulling the shot of brandy towards himself. "Stop being ridiculous."

“What did he want?”

"I don't know." England shrugged. "He wanted to talk and we talked so that's it really."

Poland raised an eyebrow. “Just talk? I don’t think you have been capable of ‘just talking’ since the 1860s.”

"We are estranged, Feliks." England shrugged, waving the bartender for another glass.

Poland was quiet for a moment, he’d been strangely quiet since the invasion. Sometimes it was unnerving how the normally confident and boisterous nation would grow silent and contemplative. It was as if the shock of how quickly he fell had finally dashed away the thoughts of the world as it had been before. “At least you know where he is and he’s still free.”

"We will get Toris back, I promise. I'm trying." He laid his hand on the blond’s arm with a firm squeeze. "I'll get it done."

“We should have suspected that Ivan was going to make a play for their lands. He’s probably asking Ludwig for my lands, too. How long do you think that is going to work? Stalin and Hitler, we haven’t seen men like them in a long time.” Poland downed more of his drink. “If ever. My poor, Liet... my people...” He sat the empty glass down onto the bar.

England sighed quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was an Empire. THE British Empire. He could do this. He had been taking care of his colonies for years. Other nations were nothing new. His plate was just becoming a bit full. He needed a platter. Being pulled from every direction at such a velocity was beginning to wear on him. His temper was becoming shorter. His patience wearing thin. All he wanted to do was sleep. France had shouted at him last week after England had been blunt with him. France had shouted that he was lacking sympathy and was cruel. 

England had just stared at him in disbelief. So what? Everyone else was allowed to limp and nurse their wounds and yet while England was taking care of them and trying to take care of himself he was not allowed to get angry? Not allowed a snippet of exasperation? He had to have the happy face with no complaints while he was being sucked dry? He didn't expect a thank you for all but nannying all of these nations. He did it out of care. But a thank you wouldn't be amiss as well. Who wouldn't get at least a smidgen bitter at times? How was he supposed to carry the weight of everyone else's emotions, problems, lives all the time and manage his own as well.

He couldn't remember the last time he was not surrounded by panicked emotions, indecision, crying, and anger. His own home was a psych ward right now. Rightfully so, the other nations were angry at the world for what was going on. But for some reason they were angry at him as well. He made one dry comment here or there that wasn't dripping in praise and positivity and suddenly he was the villain. He had to remind himself that right now the others didn't want the truth. They wanted to be coddled at every turn. It was understandable,but irrational and disrespectful. But he wasn't allowed to complain about how he was suffering as well for if he did, he was seen as insensitive and judgemental. He had made that mistake once. Never again. He would have to make boxes. They couldn't be friends and flatmates at the same time. It was either or. Even if by the hour.

But he was the British Empire. He would carry it on his shoulders without complaint. He would carry and save all of them. Righting many of the wrongs of the world as possible while protecting and trying to help himself. Alone. Him. That was the only way any of them were going to make it out of this alive. "We will free them. I promise."

Poland grasped England’s hand. “I know that you are going to try.” He turned to look at him. “Here we are supposed to be celebrating your victory and we’re already talking about the next battle... we should get some champagne, but not share it with Francis.” Poland gave him a smile.

"That sounds wonderful... but I am dreadfully tired perhaps we can have champagne with breakfast in the morning?" He didn't feel like celebrating. He needed to get away. It burned his stomach. Poland was one of his dearest friends but right now he was having trouble being around most of them. The line between caring, supporting a friend, and running everything was blurring. Sometimes, he just had to get away.Both parties were at fault. England for caring and giving so much of himself to the point of overbearing and the others for taking too much. Both ignoring boundaries. And yet he was going to be the one to suffer it. The one who the other was going to have ill thoughts about, but that was his lot in life. Often the lot of the caregiver.

“Absolutely, I’ll see if I can sweet talk one of your stern-faced servants into bringing something sweet with breakfast, too. If you’re feeling up to it.” England could hear the hint of apprehension in his voice. This day may have been declared Battle of Britain Day, the greatest victory so far, but they both knew there wasn’t a chance that it was the end of the bombings. Things would surely get worse before it got better. “Hopefully, we can all get some sleep tonight.”

"Of course. Good night, Feliks." He slipped from the bar stool with a smile and joined the throng of people. Once he dealt with America he could go drink himself to sleep.

***

America had nearly left. He paced the quiet hallway time and again, trying not to look impatient when a few of the hotel staff had walked by on their way to duties or guests that didn’t want to be seen slipped up the backstairs. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he turned again, nearly bumping into someone. Relief made him weak in the knees when he saw England standing there. “You came.”

"It would have been rude not to," England murmured.

America reached forward and pulled England to him. He felt him stiffen, but he didn’t let go. “I’m glad you came.”

England stared over his shoulder. "What do you need?" He was tempted to relax into the hold, but he couldn't.

“Nothing. What do you need?” America asked. He didn’t move his arms. England didn’t feel injured, and just the feel of his shoulders rising and falling was reassuring.

"I... I don't know," England muttered. "I'm fine."

“I know you better than that. I told you... I’m here for you.”

"You aren't, you can’t."

“Not the United States. Me.”

"No...you cannot" he shook his head.

“Arthur, I don’t want to argue with you. I’m here, whether you like it or not. So... what do you want?”

"I... nothing." He shook his head.

America adjusted his hold, taking England by the shoulders. He felt frail underneath his jacket and guilt washed through America. He couldn’t rescue England from it, not until Congress declared war. “You don’t have to be alone right now.”

"That's not true and we both know it," he said quietly.

“I don’t want it to be true.”

"Alfred," he murmured, pressing his cheek into his shoulder. America’s arms slid around him again, gently holding him. He started a few words, but decided against them each time. It was all ground they’d covered before and he really didn’t want to argue. He was giving England what he could offer. Little moments. England was here and he was alive. He could be grateful for that. Pressing his nose into England’s hair, he held him close, wishing he didn’t have to let go.

"I'm tired."

“I can walk you back to your place.”

"No." He shook his head. He didn't trust himself.

“Arthur... you don’t have to let me inside, if you don’t want to. I’ll just walk you to your door.”

"I... all right." He found himself nodding despite his trepidation.

“Let’s go then.” America released him slowly, wishing he could hold his hand as they made their way out of the backdoors of the hotel and into the street. It was growing cooler, the autumn air growing brisk, a dampness clinging to the edifices of buildings and wrapping around them. It was as if London was holding its breath. “The palace or one of your other places?” America asked when England didn’t immediately set off in one direction or the other.

"I have a new flat. Smaller.East end. Poplar."

America looked around, choosing a direction and setting off.

"Other way." England snorted.

America threw him a grin. “I was testing you,” he said, starting off in the other direction.

"Still a terrible liar." He shook his head, shoving his hands into his pockets as he stepped in line with him. Silence fell over the pair, static with uncertainty. This was just supposed to be a walk home. Something courteous.

America walked close to him, their arms brushing together every so often. As though America were reassuring himself he was still there. “I walked past the palace gates every day since I last saw you. I think the guards were starting to get suspicious of me.”

England frowned. "I'm surprised you just didn't pretend to be Matthew. No one can tell you two apart."

“I might have tried. It doesn’t work when Matt can contradict me."

England shrugged. "Your lack of creativity does you credit."

“Well, I was working on a new plan. Needed a few details to fall into place.” America looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “I don’t have to use it now that you came out.”

"I've been coming and going," England defended himself.

“I heard, and I was hoping I’d see you.” His shoulder bumped into England’s. “I... well, I told you I was worried, but... I guess I’ve kinda missed you, too.” The final words sped out of his mouth quickly, as though he knew he shouldn’t say them, but couldn’t stop himself.

"Alfred... I... yeah." He looked away, cheeks coloring. This was inappropriate. His shoulders tight.

America looked away as well. “Yeah...”

Chewing on his bottom lip, England dragged his hand through his hair, mussing it further has he stared at the ground. "Nice weather."

America glanced at him again. He hesitated for a moment. “This isn’t cold for you?”

"I'm always cold these days it doesn't matter."

“Well, here.” America shrugged out of his RAF flight jacket, draping it over England’s shoulders before he could protest.

"Thank you," England mumbled clutching it shut with one hand. It was huge, America being larger chested than he. Discretion was key. He turned his head to sniff the jacket collar. It smelled just like America.

America rubbed one of his arms, the sudden change in temperature giving him a chill. “Of course.” He looked around at the working class buildings that had sprung up around them after they left the more upscale parts of town behind. “Let me guess, you’re growing roses in your window flower box out here?”

"Ah no."England shook his head "I've been helping in the community garden instead."

“What have you been growing?”

"Potatoes, carrots, onions... the sort of things that keep you know." He shrugged

“I’ve been planting bigger fields. The crop should be better this year, those awful dry winds seem to have gone away.” The last of the sunlight was fading, the glow of electric lights and even some candles. America reached out, catching the cuff of England’s sleeve for a moment.

"That is good to h-Alfred?" He stopped to look at him. "What is it?"

“Just a weird feeling. They’re probably just arguing in Congress again.” America’s fingers brushed the side of England’s hand as he let go. “It also might be all this cold weather.”

"Oh, all right." He swallowed, looking up as noise caught his attention. A group of extremely drunken men poured out of a pub, laughing and shoving each other.

The men cheered the victory as they walked by. “Why aren’t you as happy as they are?”

"Because I know everything the British public doesn't... and I've got a bit on my mind with tomorrow and everything..."

“What’s happening tomorrow?” America asked.

"I'm going out with the Special Operations Executive."

“Special Operations, huh?” America kicked a small pebble with the toe of his shoe. “Sounds dangerous.”

“Vichy France.” 

America stopped, pulling England around to face him. “To do what?”

“Secret Intelligence, of course.”

“Can’t your spies do that? Arthur, you had a seizure only a few days ago, what happens if you collapse behind enemy lines?”

“How do you know when my last seizure was?” England asked defensively. He was wrong.

“Unless there’s been more since they pulled you out of my arms. I was there, remember?”

England looked away less than pleased with that memory. “It really is none of your business.” It was that morning. It was one of the reasons he was so tired.

“Arthur...” America released him, taking a step back, pushing his hands into his trouser pockets. “I still care about you. Even if we aren’t... you’re still you and I’m still me.”

“I’m fully aware of that.” His lips pressed tightly. “And that's exactly why it cannot be your business.”

“If you don’t come back, I’m coming after you,” America said. He looked up at the sky. “C’mon, let’s get you home before it starts to rain.”

"Yes, let’s," England huffed. It lasted all of about two seconds before the fat drops began striking the pavement.

America made a sound of discomfort, and hurried behind England as he picked up the pace. They pulled around a corner and onto a stoop, the rain coming down even harder.

"Of all times to forget an umbrella." England sighed. "It's just a bit of water though."

“You look like you went overboard.” America laughed, reaching out to brush England’s wet hair out of his face.

"Tactful, love," England said, dryly, falling still at the touch on his temple. The intake of breath was quiet, but audible. Eyes flicking up to blue ones.

America’s eyes met his own in a way that England hadn’t seen in decades. It was the look he would sometimes give him when their relationship was new and he was unsure of whether he was allowed to act first. Unlike his younger self, America leaned forward, mouth a hair’s breadth from England’s. Not yet a kiss, but one that could be taken with barely a move.

England's breath was slow and deep, his hands settling on America's forearms. With the turn of his head, he felt America’s mouth brush over his cheek, his nose skimming the younger’s. It was there he could take it. He stepped flush against the other, reveling in the wash of that familiar cologne that was all America.

America pressed his nose against the side of England’s head, his hand pressing against England’s cheek. His breathed him in, eyes drifting closed, losing himself in the moment and the feel of England’s body pressed against his own.

"Alfred." It came out in that intimate sigh that America had learned was only for him. England leaned into the palm of the taller blonde, hands leaving his arms to loop about his waist. A more comfortable position.

America wanted to kiss him, just pull his face to his own and not think about the consequences. He brushed his nose against England’s. _You want me too, right?_

"Alfred..." England breathed again a bit more steady before whispering, "We can't."

America took a shaky breath. “I know.” He couldn’t let go, he smoothed his fingers over England’s cheek.

"That's not fair and you know it," he protested with no real fire behind it. His head fell back, humming the small delighted hum of his as America took the invitation, thumb brushing over his pulse.

“Sweetheart...” He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against England’s shoulder, turning his head to breathe in the scent of England’s skin.

"Alfred." England watched the clouds boil overhead. A dark mark. Something. A plane. "Fuck!" England jerked backwards.

America looked at him for a moment and then turned towards where he was looking. “Shit!” He grabbed England by the arm. “We have to take cover.” The first blasts of the anti-aircraft guns thumped in the distance.

"You need to head for the palace, Alfred." England pulled America’s hand from his arm and gave him a shove. "Head back to the conference and join the other nations. They will be being moved back with guard!" He needed to get to his plane.

“Where are you going?” America caught him again.

"To my post, now go!" England pulled away.

“Arthur, I...” His face was torn, but then he stepped back and turned away. England could see him disappear between the buildings. England watched for a moment, chest heavy. He should have just kissed him. Shaking his head to clear his mind, England pushed off the porch as people began to pour from doors to the nearest bomb shelters.

Time to get to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hope you enjoyed that monster chapter (more than 10,000 words)! We have most of the next chapter written already, so we can get that to you a little sooner! As always, if you've been enjoying the story, let us know by leaving a comment or a kudo!
> 
> Next up: The Battle of Britain ends and the Blitz begins. Foundations are shaken and will America and England hold to their convictions?


	5. A Dangerous Meet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America and England can't seem to stay apart. As the Blitz intensifies, emotions run high.

_September 18, 1940_

_London, England_

“There were fucking children on board!” England screamed, decanter shattering loudly against the wall. Canada stood in the doorway, face drawn in anger. He had come to deliver the news. The SS City of Benares, torpedoed by a German submarine. 248 of the 406 onboard killed,including child evacuees bound for Canada. “Children dammit! They are killing children!”He kicked the wall. It was his program. Those kids. They had been on the Children's Overseas Reception Board. “That's it, we are done.” His hands smoothed over the desk, taking deep breaths to steady himself. A glance upwards showed Canada nodding reluctantly. “We can’t relocate any more children this way.”

***

_November 24th, 1940_

_Endless. That is the first word that comes to mind when I think of this whole thing. The bombing hasn't stopped. During the day it has but not at night. It's been consecutive. That's the only reason I have the time to write now. A journal. To organize my thoughts. I'm still not sure how one organizes one's thoughts during a bombing. Usually, I am out there moving people, finding those in the rubble. Doing my best to protect buildings, trying to use shields. But I overdid it last night. Apparently, I collapsed. Matthew said I had another fit. He looked horrified. In tears when I woke. It can’t have been that bad. Can it?_

_The Battle of Britain finally ended on all Hallows eve. Just two weeks before that nearly seventy people were killed when they bombed Belham station on the Underground. It seems that nowhere is safe._

_How fitting._

_Last week, on the 11th, there was the Battle of Taranto. The Royal Navy launched the first aircraft carrier strike ever in the history of war. Decimating the Italian fleet at Taranto._

_Just five days ago, heavy air raids took place. Birmingham,West Bromwich, Dudley, and Tipton - all bombed. Nine hundred people dead and 2,000 more near dead. Fifty-three died at the Birmingham Small Arms Company factory in Small Heath alone._

_Last night, the night of my collapse, they bombed Southampton. Tonight, it was Bristol._

_They are calling this the Blitz. I feel sick. I haven't heard from Alfred in weeks._

_Arthur._

_***_

_November 25, 1940_

_London, England_

“I was thinking of inviting the American ambassador for Thanksgiving dinner. It’s the right time of year for that, correct? Do you think it is too late to extend an invitation?” Churchill turned to England in a cloud of cigar smoke. “It’s come to my attention that your counterpart has been here for some time. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It is a bit late, he wouldn't make it here in time.” England frowned over his cup of tea. “Master Jones and are at personal odds right now.”

“What are you doing to fix it?” Churchill asked, picking up one of the many papers spread across his desk. He eyed England over the top of it.

“Excuse me?”

“The Americans are going to be necessary for our defense. Have you not been listening? He’s a young, naive nation who needs a strong hand.”

“Alfred isn't someone to control.” England put his cup down.

“No, but he is someone to be wooed. He clearly needs some leading. We need to work on the Americans for them to join us.”

“Alfred has been fighting for us in the air already.”

“He needs to do more and you need to help him. We don’t only need their men, we need their resources. The Americans have a larger capacity to produce weaponry and other material.” Churchill gestured broadly. “You two were inseparable after the Great War, I heard.”

“That was then, Winston.”

“Well, what happened? Anything can be mended and it must if we’re going to face this threat!”

“Alfred and I are on amicable terms so that is fine enough. It's not like you and Roosevelt are ‘buddy buddy’ as the Americans say.”

“I’m working on him as I expect you to be with Alfred.”

England huffed. “There is a lot more water under the bridge for us. You are a student of history, you must have some notion.”

“Then start digging a trench and start diverting water until you can get across.” Churchill picked up a few more papers. “I heard the Eagle squadron boys spend time at the Dorchester Hotel with some of our own well to do boys. You should go and socialize.”

England sighed and looked out the window, an idea coming to mind. There was somewhere else he would take Alfred before that. “Fine.”

“Good to hear it. We must all make sacrifices before this is done. Now get on with it.” Churchill turned his attention to several aides who came in the door with new cases.

England scowled, pushing away from the table. He didn't have the time to even change out of his uniform it seemed.

***

The inn was packed with loud Americans as England stepped in searching for his. The number of Americans that had defied their country’s neutrality had grown large enough that they were given their own units. The Eagle Squadron had drawn attention and a sort of affection from the people of London. He heard America before he saw him, his laugh rising above the others as he recounted some daring feat he’d accomplished on his last mission.

Sifting through the crowd, he gave cool looks to those that made protest to him walking closer. If his look wasn’t enough when they took note of his uniform and rank that was the nail in the coffin. He stopped in front of America’s table, arms crossing. “Jones.”

America glanced at him, a small pull between his brows. The noise had died down. “Want a drink, Kirkland?” America asked, a cheerful smile settling back on his face. He’d clearly been drinking a good portion of the night already.

“No, thank you. I however will need you to come with me.” He jerked his head towards the door.

“Let me finish my story and I’ll meet you in a jiffy.” England heaved a sigh and didn't move from his spot, staring at America as he waited. He had already ordered America’s things to be brought to the palace to his normal rooms. The other pilots hung on every word as America finished his story. England could picture the battle, there had been one every day. The RAF went out and not all of the pilots came back. It was as America turned his head that England caught sight of a small burn on the side of his face. He couldn’t stop looking at it until the story of America’s defeat of a German bomber was complete. He stood up, clinking glasses with his friends and finishing off the rest before he walked up to England. “So, where to?”

“You are reckless,” England muttered and turned on his heal heading for the door. “Come.”

“That’s not even the best story I’ve got. Just the most recent. If you want to hear them...” He offered him a grin and nudged him in the shoulder.

“I'm sure I'll hear them again and again,” England muttered, looking to the sky. They had a couple hours before curfew. “Let's get a drink.”

“I offered to get you one.” America bumped his shoulder again.

“Do stop shoving me!” He scowled. “And I didn’t want to drink in that place with all those Americans.”

“Just this American?” America looked at him, but England looked away when their eyes caught. “Where are we going?”

“To one of my favorite pubs.” He shoved his hands in his pockets.

***

America dropped down onto the bar stool, aware of the curious stares. The Eagle Squadron pilots were something of a curiosity, but generally treated with kindness and affection. America watched as England slid into the seat beside him. He looked tired and the question had been on America’s tongue since he saw him in the previous establishment, _how are you_? However, he was afraid to ask it. Too curious of what had brought England out of the palace to talk to him. He’d thought of calling him, but every time he’d picked up the phone the words had died. “Seems like a nice place,” he said, since he couldn’t say anything he wanted.

“The Emerald Lion belongs to that bloke over there. He has a few staff but prefers to do it on his own.” He gestured to the blond keep who was behind the bar.

“Sounds familiar.” America’s knee bumped into England’s under the bar. He was tired of holding back. He wanted to touch him, even if it was just this much.

England raised a brow and nodded to the bartender and raised two fingers. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Has people to help him, but always wants to go at it alone? Doesn’t sound familiar?”

“Don't be a twat.” England scowled, looking to the clock. There was always a raid, yet there wasn't always a fit to match. It was a hit or miss. And that made him nervous.

America smiled. “I can’t remember the last time we had a drink together.”

“I block it out,” he drawled.

“Where was it even?” America asked, happily accepting the beer as it arrived.

England shrugged. “Somewhere here, I think.”

“Before...” America shrugged. “I thought you were going to drink with me?” He pushed England’s glass closer to him.

England grabbed the glass and rolled his eyes. “Patience is a virtue.” He glanced at the clock again.

“You have catching up to do.”

“Excuse me?” He frowned.

“This isn’t my first. My evening is going.” America took a long sip.

“Going?” England's brow furrowed and it took him a moment. “Ah no. I haven't been drinking much as of late.” He peered into the glass. “It’s been a concern.”

“Why?”

“I don't know what would happen if I was drunk and had one of those collapses.” He shrugged taking a deep drink.

“Oh.” America was quiet for a few moments, running his finger along the edge of the bar. “Those haven’t settled down, huh? Are they getting worse?”

“Sometimes.” He shrugged again. “No rhyme or reason really.”

“Maybe it’s the days that we’re able to hit them back.”

“Thats a nice, but also terrifying thought,” England admitted, rolling his glass around and glancing at the clock once again. “We probably should head back soon.”

“You didn’t even finish your drink yet. Then I’ll go back to the airfield.” America stared into his beer glass.

“You like Churchill, right?”

“He always seems kind of intense.”

“Very much so. Like - having someone else's stuff moved into the palace in an effort to create further amiable relations - intense.” 

“Huh?”

“Your belongings have been moved to the palace.”

“How am I supposed to protect you from there?”

England shrugged. “Maybe you'll luck out and catch me, rather than me falling down two flights of stairs and breaking my arm like last month.” His tone was bitter.

America’s eyes widened. “Nobody told me. Why didn’t you send word? Every time I tried to ask after you, they shut me down.”

“You have the number for my personal line. I figured if you wanted to talk you would call.”

America frowned. He made it sound like telephones could magically connect people directly. “I still have to go through the palace switchboard and my calls mysteriously drop every time. When I call back they say you’re not to be contacted. There’s a lot of people protecting you.” 

“Of course. England is the main combatant in this war. We are the front line.” England sighed rubbing at his temple.

“No, that’s not what I mean. I’m not just protecting ‘England.’” America looked away. “Let’s go before curfew.”

***

“Yes, let’s.” England drained his cup and dug out the money from his pocket and put it on the bar. “Let's go.” As they pushed back from the bar, a young American pilot brushed by them going to the bar. England could see the reaction on the barkeep’s face. Restrained happiness. Warmth flared in his chest as the door closed behind them.

They walked in silence until they got to England’s car. America reached for the wrong door at first, offering a joking smile to England at the mistake. Walking to the other side, he got into his seat. “Arthur?”

“Yes?” The car rumbled to life and England pulled out into the empty street. It was too close to curfew for most people to be out.

“Did you want me to come to the palace, or did Winston just decide?”

“He decided... but I didn't argue.” He stared forward.

“I guess that’s not a no.” America fidgeted in his seat.

“What's wrong now?”

“Just wondering if you’re going to come visit me or leave me in my rooms to my own devices. I really hope you’ll come.”

England's fingers tightened over the wheel. “Visit your chambers at night?”

America was quiet for a moment. “Only if you wanted to.” In the silence that came after, he let out a small breath. “Or at least for some meals and maybe a drink now and then.”

“If I'm awake or not out helping I will be there,” he said quietly. America wanted to fuck. Didn't care that they weren't together and so much lay between them. That made him wary.

“Okay. It’s a deal,” America said as they pulled up to the palace gates. The windows were blocked, much like the rest of London. The large anti aircraft guns stood like monuments in the cobbled courtyards. America looked up at them, the calm before the storm.

***

England gave a small wave as they were let through. A man unfamiliar to America ran down to take the car from them. America got out of the car, feeling a little hazy from the beer. It had become a habit. Fly during the day, drink at night, repeat. It felt strange walking up the steps covered in a fine layer of dust from the rest of the city, being so close to England, but not able to touch him more than a brush. Why was that? It was stupid. America’s hand bumped against England’s as they walked.

“I shall have Edward show you to your room and go over the current safety protocol.”

“Where are you going?” America asked, stopping in his tracks. He didn’t want England to leave. Not when they were in the same building for the first time in weeks. Not when he could be hurting. 

“To go speak with Winston.”

“Will you come after?” He sounded far more pleading than he’d meant to, it must have been the liquor. And probably the fact that he hadn’t slept for more than a few hours since the Blitz began. He was too worried about England to sleep.

England watched him for a moment. “Unless otherwise delayed. Yes.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” America smiled at him, reaching out to touch him gently on the back. He felt thinner than usual, even through the layers of his military uniform. _I’m not trying to hurt you. I just miss you so bad I can’t breathe._ “I...” It was on the tip of his tongue. He could say the words. He’d been dodging anti-aircraft fire and German fighters. Why did this feel so hard? He swallowed. “I miss you, Arthur.”

***

England took a deep breath staring at him. Having America here was already a crack in his armor. He swallowed. That just widened it. “As do I,” he whispered stepping away, focusing on each step as he left to go confront Churchill.

Later, England stood on the opposite side of the hidden door leading into America’s room, wearing nothing but his short bathrobe. Swallowing, he pushed open the door, knowing if he hesitated that that would be the end of him. He slipped into the room carefully, peering around.

The bedroom was dark, a light glowing from the sitting room. A shadow went back and forth across the open door. America walking back and forth. England heard him sigh in frustration and then a creak as he dropped onto the sitting couch. As England came around the corner, he could see him. He had pulled off his jacket and thrown it across the back of the couch. His uniform shirt was unbuttoned at the throat and his tie nowhere to be seen.

“You seem frustrated,” England commented quietly, making his way over to the couch, pulling at the belt of his robe.

America jumped. “I didn’t think you were, uh, coming.” His eyes fell on England’s attire. “I was wondering if I should go into the city.”

“I said I would did I not?” England murmured, undoing the knot.

“Yeah, but you... what are you doing?”

Undoing the knot, England let the robe drop to the floor in a pool at his feet. “I didn’t think you wanted to do it with clothing on. You don’t normally like that.” 

America’s jaw dropped, his eyes raking over England’s body for a moment before he turned bright red. “You... you’ve got the wrong idea!” 

England froze. “Excuse me?” Mortification hit him like a bus. “You told me to come to your room late at night, what else would it be?!”

“I wanted to talk to you! See you!”

England bent over and grabbed his robe, holding it to the front of his chest. “I-” He backed up towards the door.

“Wait! I’ll get you something to wear, just please...” America rarely said please, it stuck out as a strange turn of phrase, making the whole situation stranger. “You’re already here.”

England couldn't look him in the face as embarrassment threatened to drown him. He had thought America had wanted him and then America had outright rejected him. His ears burned and he glanced towards the door. He shouldn’t have come. Shouldn’t have let himself hope. “Alfred... I...”

“Don’t go.” There was an edge to his voice, a pleading that England hadn’t heard in a long time. The sound America made when he knew he wouldn’t see him again any time soon. His fingers gripped the edge of the couch.

“I...” England shook his head. “Get me something to wear. The bombing is going to start soon.”

America got up off the couch and went back into his bedroom. He returned a minute later with a pair of pajamas, clearly his own and offered them to England.

England took them from him carefully. “Turn around.” America’s expression wavered, but he did as he was asked, giving England the privacy to dress. Pulling the shirt over his head he tried his best to cinch the pants about his waist. “Okay.”

Turning back around, America held out a hand to him. An expression of warm affection crossed his face, a small curve of a smile, at the look of England in his pajamas. “I forgot how much I liked seeing you in my clothes.”

“Twat,” England muttered, cheeks warming as he took America's hand.

Pulling him toward the couch, they took a seat, but America didn’t let go of his fingers. His thumb brushed over the back of England’s hand. “When do you think it’ll start tonight?”

England glanced at the clock. “Anytime soon.” He grimaced.

“Do you want to play cards? I could distract you.”

“I... why am I here?”

America fingers brushed over England’s wrist. “I... Do you think it’s possible to be together again?”

England looked up sharply. That question was dangerous. “What... what do you mean?”

“I’ve played over our fight again and again in my head. I don’t want to keep fighting... I want to fix it.”

“And how do you propose that?” he asked, cautiously.

“I don’t know. I don’t think there’s a formula.”

“Well, what do you need?” He swallowed.

America twined his fingers against England’s. “I need you to be open with me. I need you to try. I want to trust you.”

England stiffened in offense. “Excuse me?” He pulled his hand away. “Are you saying that I was lying to you?” He was on his feet in seconds. “That I wasn't trying!?”

America’s face fell. “I never said I thought you were lying! I just... I need to know where I stand with you. You are the only one I ever wanted and you fucking know it! I need to be treated like I’m not a fucking given! That’s what fucking hurt!” He got up from the couch and walked away a few steps. “I need you to treat me like I’m equal. It’s all I’ve ever wanted from you.”

“Alfred, I have been saying that your a nation and treating you like one since you fucking left me! What more do you want!?” England threw his hands up.

America got on his feet. “What are you talking about!? You left me!”

“I did not!”

“That’s not the way it felt to me!”

“How do you misconstrue that!?” England shouted.

“How do you not hear me telling you what I need and assume it’s me leaving you!?” He leaned his hands on the back of the couch.

“You already left!” England snapped, dragging his hands through his hair. He opened his mouth to yell again only to be interrupted by the sirens. An air raid was starting.

America didn’t even hesitate before pulling England along. He’d been shown where to go when England had gone before. It was an automatic reaction. The siren goes off, one moved. “I waited for you.”

“No, you-” England realized they were fighting about two different things. He fell silent and shook his head.

“I, what?” America asked.

“Nothing.” The sound of planes could be heard and England stumbled. The thud of the anti-aircraft guns began and soon they were in the shelter that had been built deep in the palace. The thick walls dulled the sound. They were pressed together in the small space.

“It’s not nothing.”

“Drop it, Alfred!” England hissed, rubbing at his temple.

America wrapped an arm around him, pulling him against his chest. “We’re missing each other...”

“Please, I cant handle all this right now. It's a bad one.” He groaned quietly.

“I’m here for you. Tell me what you need.” It was like all the anger had drained out of him. His body softened against England’s, trying to be welcoming.

Digging his fingers into the back of America’s shirt England squeezed his eyes shut. Sometimes he blacked out, sometimes he had a fit, sometimes he was sick and sometimes there was nothing wrong at all. There was no rhyme or reason to any of it. He sagged against America with a grunt. Damn his head. “Alfred...”

“Shhh, I’ve got you.”

“Don't leave me.” It came out in a low whisper, pressing his face into the crook of America’s shoulder in a familiar manner. Noises were distorted again. 

“I won’t. I’m here.” He pressed his nose into England’s hair, the fingers of one hand curling against the back of England’s neck.

***

When England woke up he hadn't realized he had passed out. Which meant he had another fit. Blinking, he recognized the ceiling of his bedroom. When had he? He groaned quietly he shifted. He bumped up against something warm, solid. He turned to see America’s blond head on the bed beside him.

“Alfred,” he croaked, touching his head to wake him.

A small sound. “You’re awake.”

“What happened?”

“You collapsed in my arms.” America rolled over to face him. “You were coming to when I brought you up here after it was clear. You asked me not to leave you. So I didn’t.”

“Good.” England rolled over, burying himself into America's scent and arms in one fell swoop.

“How do you feel?”

“Exhausted.” He frowned as America stayed still.

Slowly, America’s hand touch England’s back, his fingers spreading against his shirt. “Sleep then.”

“Will you be here?”

“Yes.” He let out a soft breath. “Sleep, sweetheart.”

“I don't know if I can.”

“Why?”

“Because you're here. Sleeping seems like a waste,” he muttered, eyelids drooping. In the back of his mind he was aware that he should be mortified by the words that came out of his mouth, but he was too tired.

“There’s time.” He pressed a kiss to England’s hair. “You can sleep now.”

“All right.” The words slurred and it didn't take long before his breathing evened out, leaving America with his thoughts.

***

His arm was tingling and his body was beginning to ache, but America was afraid to move. England’s sleep wasn’t deep, his body moving now and then in a thrash. He wanted to give him what comfort he could even as their fight stuck in his mind.

When England had come to his room dressed like _that_ and then disrobing, America had felt a spike of want that he’d not allowed himself to feel. He hadn’t even gotten that far yet, he’d only wanted England to smile at him again. Show the softness that he used to catch in glimpses, or when they were alone and England wasn’t thinking about being anywhere else. The intimacy of England showing joy. If he’d said yes, England would have walked away after. America didn’t want to question if every look and every touch was just selfish. They would have become like all the rest, something to just have when they were bored. America couldn’t handle that. He didn’t want a touch just for pleasure, that was easy enough to find. _I want your heart. I want you to love me. I’m not another notch on your bedpost._

He held him, trying to quiet his own mind enough to find rest.

***

The sun pouring in through the curtains told England it was early afternoon. However, he questioned it because America was still in bed, curled around him like a dead weight. The boy didn't look like he had moved all night. Swallowing England, flexed fingers and outs, carefully moving arms and legs. Nothing was broken this time. Good. He could help with clean up. America’s arms tightened around him and he all but melted into the embrace.

They were fighting. No longer together. This was so wrong. But he didn’t care at the moment.

“Alfred.”

“Hmmm?” His voice was groggy, as though he’d been on the edge of sleep, but couldn’t quite find it.

“Never mind, go back to sleep.”

“Gotta get up, get to the airfield.”

“No, you're on leave today.”

“Is that an order?”

“From a commanding officer, yes.”

“Then I guess I’m on leave.” He stretched a little. “It’s been a while without a day in the air.”

“Yes, go back to sleep.” England touched the tips of America's hair, forever in disarray.

“Seems a waste,” America muttered, his arms moving so he could take a more possessive grip of England.

“Don't argue. That's also an order,” England murmured. He would take advantage of this. Hate himself later, but that was his future self’s problem.

***

“Yes, sir.” America snuggled against him, body relaxing. America knew he shouldn’t. He should insist that he go back to his room or insist that they finish their conversation that the bombing had interrupted. He could pretend right now. Pretend that everything was fine, it would be haunting, but at least he could go back to the airfield with some comfort when England inevitably sent him away.

***

England watched, counting the time with the ticks of the grandfather clock in his parlor. America was asleep in less than a minute. Good. He would wait another twenty and then get up and go out to help the salvage crews. The ticking of the clock kept him company, but also tricked him.

Suddenly, it was the sunlight of a setting sun. He had blinked. A very long blink, it seemed. One that had passed enough time that America had tucked himself around him, as if he could protect him from the world and all the chaos that seemed to be targeting him.

America’s breath fanned out against his cheek, his nose brushing against England’s temple. “Arthur...” he whispered in his sleep.

There was no way he was getting out of this without waking the other. England hesitated, he could blame it on the exhaustion and the war. Reaching up, he touched the other’s chin, pressing a kiss to his mouth.

It was automatic, America’s body reacting to his own. He pressed back, a soft sound escaping between his lips. When his mind caught up, he slowed, eyes fluttering open. He looked at England, his face surprised, but not angry. 

England ignored the question in his eyes, deepening the kiss, fingers curling into America's hair, twining his legs about the others to close the space between them. He didn't know how long he had until America was fully awake but he would utilize what he could get. 

America’s hands came up to cup his cheeks. His body leaned, rolling England beneath him. His body was warm with sleep. He rocked against him and then pulled back. “I’m not dreaming.” His eyes were wide.

“No.” England pressed a kiss to his throat with a hum.

“We...” He swallowed. “I want this, but...”

“Alfred...”England paused, body tensing. He had been right, it didn't last long. He took in a shaky breath. _Shit._

America closed his eyes, brow furrowed. “Just fucking is not enough for me.”

“If you’re not going to kiss me, then kindly get off of me,” he whispered. America leaving the bed was the last thing he wanted. “But if you want to stay up there then kiss me.”

“I want to kiss you.” America pressed his mouth against England’s.

England hummed against America’s mouth in delight, wrapping his arms around his neck, back arching to close any gaps between them.

***

America knew he should stop. He didn’t want just England’s body, even if that felt fantastic pressed against his own. There needed to be words, things that were shared. With that, it wouldn’t feel like the wrong thing. It took all of his strength to pull back. “Arthur, we can’t do this.”

“I just wanted a kiss,” England said, gritting his teeth. “Nothing else.”

America ran his fingers through England’s hair. He pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “It’s never just a kiss. I want more. It’s taking all I have...” His body felt like a traitor. “But I can’t, not yet.”

“Then we need to dress.”

“It’s nearly night again.”

“And air raids are going to happen soon.” England looked away. “You need to get off.”

America climbed off him, feeling the stiffness of his uniform. He hadn’t meant to sleep in it, he’d just been so reluctant to let go of him. He sat on the edge of the bed. “I should go out. Help tonight.”

“That's what I'm doing.” England rolled away. He had hoped to steal a kiss and then the younger would have fallen back asleep. It wasn't supposed to have turned awkward. America wasn't supposed to have rejected him again.

America turned to look at him. “What if you collapse out there? You should stay here where it’s safe.”

“Did you just suggest than anywhere in an entire country that is being bombed is safe?”England got out of bed on the opposite side. “The last time I saw you was in September. Nearly two months ago and I have survived well enough on my own.”

“You were safe last night. And you haven’t seen me since then because I was flying missions every day and no one would let me see you.” America ran a hand through his hair and reached for his glasses. “I should go.”

“Yes, you should.” England stared at his fisted hands.

“Be careful, Arthur. I mean it.” He stood up. “If something were to happen to you...” He clenched his jaw. He couldn’t say more. It was easy to fix an airplane or a car, why was it so hard to fix what they’d broken between them? Maybe it couldn’t be mended. That thought felt like a weight in America’s stomach.

“Keep calm and carry on,” England muttered.

America clenched his fists and walked out of the room.

***

_November 15, 1940_

_Tokyo, Japan_

The room felt odd, America thought. It wasn’t just the Western style table and chairs that had been set in the middle of what was usually a traditional room. Before, when he’d visited, Japan’s house felt like an interesting discovery. They would sit and look at the garden and talk about things that they hadn’t invented yet. When they talked. Japan usually just listened. America resisted the urge to shove his hands in the pockets of his trousers as he was made to wait yet again. It felt odd. The clerks in the Western style uniforms, dark or white, depending on the military branch. After all, Japan wasn’t just Japan anymore. He was the Empire of Japan. America examined the flag on the wall a little more closely. Land of the Rising Sun, it was something Japan had always talked about, but now he seemed to really take it to heart.

“Alfred-san.” The cold ring to his voice surprised him. America turned around, surprised to see Japan looking directly at him from the other side of the room. The look made America square his shoulders a little bit more as he took him in. This wasn’t the Japan he’d been used to, the one who would wear his simple clothes around his home and spend more time looking at anything else, but America’s face. He was dressed in a stark white naval uniform, a katana at his belt. He wasn’t smiling, but then again, Japan never smiled often.

America smiled for the both of them. “It’s nice to see you, Kiku, it would be better if it wasn’t over the fact that you’re invading China and southeast Asia.” Might as well cut to the point. Although, the way Japan’s hand gripped his sword hilt, America kind of wished he’d kept his side arm. Although, now that he thought about it, it wouldn’t be that fun to find out who was the faster draw.

“It’s not your business.”

“My trade is my business.”

“What about your trade with me? You are threatening a lot in these documents.” Japan gestured to the neat stacks of paper sitting on the table.

“Not threats. Suggestions. We’re both Pacific powers, we should be able to come to an agreement.”

Japan was silent for a moment, his face completely unreadable. “Ah, so now you want to deal with me as an equal.”

“What do you mean?”

“You cut me out of treaty after treaty. You, Arthur, and the others were happy to use my ships in the Great War, but when it came to negotiate...”

“And you were happy to take German-controlled territories!” America crossed his arms. “No one was happy with the treaties at the end of the Great War. Why do you think Ludwig is acting the way he is?”

“Then what do you propose to offer me? For our friendship?”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Then let us sit.”

America was half-tempted to move the chair from where Japan had placed it on the opposite side of the table. He missed the days when they would pour over blueprints or other design sketches. He hoped they would again, but not now. No joke that he threw at him, no suggestion that he made, nothing changed. Japan looked like a pond that had somehow settled into glassy stillness. No waves. No errant rock. Impossible to know what was beneath the surface since it was just reflecting the sky.

_What are you hiding from me, Kiku?_

“Honda, do you have a moment?”

America looked up from the papers. “Ludwig?” Germany was framed in the doorway, looking just as confused to see America as America was to see him. He looked thin, far thinner than he’d been the last time America had seen him. The skin beneath his eyes was dark, as though he hadn’t slept in days.

“Ludwig-san, I will come and speak with you in a moment. Please enjoy your rest. Alfred-san and I were just concluding our discussion.”

“No, what is he doing here?” America looked at Japan who was now carefully not looking at him. “What are you doing here?” He looked at Germany when Japan didn’t answer.

Germany’s surprised expression turned guarded, then angry. “No more than you are doing in Britain. Probably far less.”

“It’s not against international law to sell goods.”

Germany laughed. “It’s a good line, I’ll admit. You need to watch yourself, Alfred.”

“Why? Will you declare war on me?”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you. Then you could feel justified in your sneaking around.”

America stood up. Ludwig’s entire body shifted, ready for a fight. They both started when Japan slammed a hand in the center of the table, his own body on edge. “You two will not start a fight in my house. Not now.”

“Kiku, he--”

“We will talk again, Alfred-san. However, it is time for you to leave.” America looked back and forth between them. He scoffed, grabbing a handful of the paperwork and walking out of the room.

The world was upside down.

***

_December 20, 1940_

_Dear Alfred,_

_I feel like I haven't seen you in forever. We seem to just be missing each other by a hair every time. I am currently in London with Arthur. He told me that you visited him just last month, well visiting as flying in his flight ranks and briefly stopped by at the behest of Winston. That man is a driving force isn't he?_

_A lot has gone on here since you left. I am sure that a lot has been happening in America as well, but I have just been so busy between Francis and Arthur I am not sure that I have paid much attention elsewhere. It doesn't seem that the Germans are ready to give the people of England a break at all. There still hasn’t been a single night without air raids since September. I'm becoming really nervous, Al. I am not sure how much longer Arthur can hold on. The British people are holding on tightly, but Boxing Day grows quite near and how do you explain to your child that you can’t celebrate the holiday like normal because there is the concern that while the neighborhood four blocks away is gone, it could be your house next?_

_Just over a month ago, Birmingham, West Bromwich, Dudley, and Tipton were bombed. Nine hundred people were killed and 2,000 injured. Right after that Southampton, then the attack on Bristol, and then for three days in Turnchapel an oil storage depot was bombed and caught on fire. Then just last week Sheffield was bombed, 600 people died, 1,500 injured, and 30,000 more people are left homeless._

_The fact of the Blitz, the boys in the trenches, the battle in the air and on the ground and the sea are taking their toll. I’m worried that things are beginning to slip.Just today something went awry and an anti-aircraft shell took out a house in Tipton leading to several casualties, dozens perhaps. We are still waiting on numbers._

_Please tell me Roosevelt and your people are finally somewhere near to helping us. I am afraid that the eyes of the English soldiers and doctors may turn to the rumors of Ludwig and his people. Have you heard of the Pervitin? Apparently Nazi and non-Nazi doctors are behind this._

**_“Pervitin became a sensation,” one psychologist reported. “It soon gained acceptance in a very wide range of circles; students used it as a survival strategy for the exertions of exams; telephone switchboard operators and nurses swallowed it to get through the night shift, and people doing difficult physical or mental labor used it to improve their performance.”_ **

_They are even selling this stuff at the market! You can drug infused chocolates!_ **_“Hildebrand chocolates are always a delight”_ ** _is something being seen on posters there! The entire nation is becoming a regular consumer of this drug. The rumors say the goal is for a nation that never sleeps. The perfect human army for war. Alfred, I am becoming severely afraid, not only for us, but what is happening to Gilbert and Ludwig. I don’t see this war ending anytime soon and I am concerned that it is getting much worse._

_We need to see each other face to face soon._

_Love,Matthew_

***

_December 25, 1940_

_Airfield outside of London_

“Matt, what are you doing here?” America asked, adjusting his flight goggles and bringing out his glasses so he could peer at his brother. Canada had been around now and again, but America had been too busy to talk to him.

“I could ask you the same,” Canada said. “You’re not supposed to still be here.”

“I thought you were off checking on the rest of the empire.”

“I don’t like to leave Arthur for too long. You should have gotten my letter so you know why.”

America was quiet for a moment. “Yeah, I saw the letter... I just haven’t had time to respond, yet.”

“That took me far too much time so of course you couldn’t find the time.” He sighed. America walked over to his brother and pulled him into a hug.

“It’s rough. All around.” America pulled back. “Let’s get something to eat.”

“You want to go eat? Right now?” Matthew eyed him. “Not go see Arthur?”

America wrapped an arm around his shoulders and started marching him towards the mess. “Arthur doesn’t want to see me.”

“You are pouting.” Matthew stared at him.

“Am not. You’re pouting.” America glanced sideways at him. “Why, did he say something when you went to see him?”

“A lot of things. I've been here for a month... how closely have been following all this?”

“A month? Why didn’t you come and see me?”

“You left.”

“I needed to see what was going on back home. I don’t know how much longer I am going to be able to stay. My boss needs me to help deal with Kiku, he’s making moves in the Pacific. So far it seems his problem is primarily with Yao... it’s not looking good there.” America shook his head. “And I ran into Ludwig while I was visiting Japan.”

“Why was he there?” Matthew frowned 

“Why do you think?” America came to a stop. “He’s wary of me.”

“Of course he is. He is killing Arthur and everyone knows how close you two are.” He grabbed a tray to get in line for food.

“He knows it’ll tip the scales. Good thing he doesn’t know about some of the rest, though. Something is going on. I don’t want to talk about it.” America frowned at the meager portions, but didn’t ask for more. “How is Francis? I haven’t seen him so I figured he must have snuck away to see you. It’ll be awhile before we can get him out of that mess... I don’t know if anything will change soon.”

“He is tired, sore, fine for the most part. Anxious.” Canada’s fingers gripped the tray. “We will get him out of there soon.”

“As long as he doesn’t get convinced to join the other side.” They took their food to the table. “I know it’s not good news, but how is Arthur...? I thought about coming to see him for Christmas, but since there’s still work to be done here...”

Canada poked at the food on his tray before taking a deep breath. “Alfred, there’s more that I didn’t tell you in the letter.” It took awhile, and Canada stared at America’s face the entire time. He added the details about what had happened to England himself in the midst of all the destruction.

“Damn it...” America looked down at the table, determined not to break down. “I’m going to see his stubborn ass as soon as I can. He better keep being tough in the meantime. Are you going back there tonight?”

“Yes, I only was back here for a few days.” 

“Tell Arthur... tell him I’ll see him soon.”

“Come with me. It’s Boxing Day tomorrow.” 

“To the palace? Winston may have taken my things to the place, but they are pretty cold to me up there. Despite what Winston is going for.”

“Fuck the people in the palace you are supposed to be there for Arthur!” Canada said sharply.

America’s eyes widened, surprised at Canada’s language. Then he frowned. “He doesn’t want me there. He told me to go.”

“From his bed, yes. He was getting ready for a raid. Don’t give me that look. He told Feliks, and I was nearby.” He shook his head in frustration. “I am about at my wits end with you two. Arthur doesn't talk to me about any of it and that's all you talk about! I am supposed to listen as your brother, but also as your brother I am supposed to tell you to stop being such a tit and get over yourself and go do something.”

“I’ve tried, idiot. He doesn’t want to hear me. I’m fighting to try and keep him free so that hopefully he’ll start listening.” America stabbed at what was left of his meal. “And it’s not about being in his bed! Why is that all anyone can ever talk about for the last 200 years?”

“I didn’t say anything about his bed,” Canada snapped. “You’re the one who brought it up. You’re the one who is so sensitive about it. I said go do something. I spent the last week holding his head up as he vomited blood, it's your turn!”

“Shit.” America got up out of his seat. “Did you bring a fucking car?”

“Of course I did, Alfred.” Canada pushed back in his seat. “Grab your bag so we can leave.”

“Give me two seconds.” America hurried off to his bunk to stuff his things into his rucksack. He was pulling open the driver’s side door before Canada had even made it out to the vehicle. “Get in, Matt.”

“You’re not driving, not in palace grounds right now. Move over.”

“I’m only not arguing because of Arthur, you got that?” America said, moving to the other side.

“It’s also my car.” Canada sniffed, slipping into the driver’s seat and turning the engine over, pulling away from the building. The road to the Palace took some time, but within two hours they entered the narrow streets of London. It was early evening and people were doing their best to craft holiday meals and gifts with ration cards.

“I don’t have a gift for him,” America said. He felt foolish for saying it, but it was the first thing that came to mind. He looked at the bombed out buildings, London was so completely changed.

“It’s fine you can be in on the gift I told him I was bringing.” He pulled up to the palace gates, flashing his card.

“What did you get him?”

“You.”

Surprise shot through America. “What do I even say to that?”

“Thank you would suffice.”

“Thanks, Matt. Merry Christmas.” Canada rolled his eyes, but then he smiled as they pulled up to the palace. They got out of the car and headed up the stairs.

“Master Williams you've returned... with Master Jones.” The man heading down the steps stopped in surprise.

“Ah, Ronald. The bandages are on your arm are gone good to see.” Canada smiled and the man nodded.

“Yes, sir.” He nodded. “I shall show you in to my Lord then and uh... I shall escort Master Jones to his room?”

“Nah, I’m here to see him too,” America said. “We know how to get there.”

Canada touched his arm and shook his head at Alfred. “Go ahead, Ronald, show us the way.” He gestured for the man to do and the man nodded turning round. “He’s new he needs to learn,” Canada murmured.

“What happened to the other guy?”

Canada hushed him. “Do you mean Andrew?”

“Yeah.”

Canada watched him for a moment. “He... passed. Incendiary.”

America didn’t have anything to say. England’s former manservant had no love for him, but he’d cared about England. He was quiet until they got outside England’s rooms. Ronald knocked on the door announcing them as he pushed the door open to the parlour. The twins found England, not alone, sitting on his desk across from France on the couch both with a glass of wine in hand.

America froze when he saw England. He looked far worse than he had the last time they’d been together. A bandage was wrapped around his head. England stared at him, the glass lowering from his mouth. The red wine had stained his pale lips bloody, a stark contrast to the shadowing of his cheek bones and the natural pale color of his skin. His uniform wasn’t fitted properly and showed evidence of several instances of alterations. His eyes widened as he took the pair of them. He cleared his throat as Matthew went to France’s side, squeezing England’s free hand as he passed.

“Alfred.” England set the glass down with an unsteady hand.

America had to swallow for his mouth to not be dry anymore. “Matt thought he’d bring me to you as a Christmas present.”

“How... polite.” England nodded as Canada heaved a sigh and shot America a dirty look. “Well... take a seat.” England gestured cautiously. “We have some time before curfew.”

America came and leaned against the desk beside England, taking a glass as France offered one. “We were just discussing another Christmas party in what seems like a lifetime ago,” said France.

England nodded, watching as Canada all but melted into France's side with a look of contentment. He felt a flash of jealousy. “Yes, how times change.” He shrugged.

“Yet, some things stay the same. We’re all here together again,” America said. He put his hand on the edge of the table between him and England. If he moved a few inches, they would touch. Part of America was afraid he’d break him if he did that.

“For now,” England murmured against the lip of his glass and Canada muttered something quiet to France who shook his head.

“Francis and I are going to see what is taking supper so long,” Canada announced as he got to his feet. “Alfred and I should change before-” He paused as England shook his head. “All right so no changing, but still supper. Be back in a tick.”

The two left, leaving America and England alone. “Are you holding up?” America asked.

“I’m alive, aren't I?”

“Yes, you’re alive.” America did risk it then, his fingers touching the back of England’s hand.

England paused mid sip, staring deep into his cup before swallowing. “I'm surprised you’re here.”

“Why?”

“I just thought that was it.”

“When you told me to get off you? It hurt... but I told you before, I am here for you. I’ve been fighting for you.”

“Ah.” He finished his glass and wobbled as he turned to get the pitcher. “How long are you staying this time?”

“Until you throw me out. Or I have to go home and prepare for war.”

“Well, I didn't throw you out last time.”

“I threw myself out.”

“Exactly.” He filled his cup. “Now what?”

“I’m a good mechanic, Arthur. I know how to fix a lot of things and I want to fix this. That day when we were holding each other. I wanted to freeze that moment.” America looked down at his legs stretched out in front of him. “I guess being isolated is easier for me right now. But, I hate seeing you hurt like this.”

“Have you ever once stopped and considered that there was nothing to fix?”

“Are you saying nothing has changed for you? That it’s the same as before our fight?”

“No, nothing has changed my feelings are still the same.”

America swallowed. “Then I guess I can’t fix it.” The idea of that stung. He’d been trying to show that he loved him. Words hadn’t been enough, and, despite it all, England still didn’t love him back. He tipped the wine glass back, covering up the surge of emotions in his chest.

“Good. There's no reason to struggle.”

“I really hoped... Never mind.” He moved for the wine decanter again. “You know what, no, I’m not just surrendering to us not being together.” He turned and looked at England.

“Alfred...” England lowered his cup.

“I want us to be together.”

“Alfred.” England touched his arm, pulling away as there was a knock on the door. “Enter.”

“My lord, I was sent to see where you shall be taking your evening meal.” Ronald stuck his head in.

“In the hall with the others,” England answered. “We shall be down in just a moment.” The young manservant disappeared at that.

America watched England’s face. The silence stretched between them. “We shouldn’t keep them waiting. And I heard about Andrew, sorry for your loss.”

“Yes... apparently he never came back the night if my first fit.”

America felt like he’d been punched. “I tried to get him to stay with us that night. He wouldn’t.”

“Of course he didn't. He wanted to help and he did... it just didn't end well...”

America stepped forward, putting his hand on England’s shoulder. “He was a hero then.”

“Of course he was.” England sighed.

“You’re heroic, too.” America gave England a small smile, his hand touching his cheek for a moment. England's eyes fluttered shut at the touch.

“You go ahead and meet the other two, I'll follow in a bit.”

“If you’re not there in ten I’m gonna come looking for you,” America said. Worry curled in his stomach, England’s skin felt colder than usual.

“Go on hurry, you’re making them wait.”

“Okay, see you soon.” America stepped forward, looking like he needed to do something more. England watched as he left and heaved a sigh of relief. He needed a nap. Bad.

Slipping off the desk, he trudged towards his room with a groan and rubbed at his back. Everything was sore. Shoulders, back, feet. His right leg had just healed. Shuffling into his room he stripped lazily as he crawled into his bed. Perfect.

***

America watched the clock and the minutes ticking away with impatience. It had been eight minutes. Two more and he was going back there. Thoughts tore through his mind and he began to pace. He’d told England, but England had nothing to say. He turned abruptly at one end of the rug and bumped into Canada.

“Did you and Arthur fight?”

“He told me there’s nothing to fix, and that his feelings haven’t changed. He doesn’t love me.” America bumped into Canada as he resumed his pacing.

“So he _said_ he didn’t love you or that's your angst filled interpretation?” Canada said dryly, pushing back at his brother.

“I don’t know! He doesn’t talk to me! I can’t tell what he’s thinking!” He was tired, he could feel it all over. It was more than England’s situation, the tense feelings of his people were at the back of his mind all the time. Nothing made sense anymore. “I told him I want us to be together and he didn’t say anything!”

“You did notice he was drunk?”

America stopped. “How long as he been drinking? He told me he wasn’t doing that because of the bombings.”

“I think right after you left last month. It only takes about half a glass right now. Numbs things.”

America swore. “How come nobody tells me anything?”

“Cause we can never get a hold of you!” Canada frowned and gestured to the staff stationed along the wall. “Please have two plates made so that Master Jones can take them to Lord Kirkland.” The order was barely finished before the two women rushed off to do his bidding.

“It’s not like I’m on the moon! No one is trying!”

“I've been trying to get a hold of you, Al! I tried calling and tried sending letters and nothing gets to you! Or one in a handful!”

“Then something is going wrong!” America clenched his fists. “Someone is trying to keep me from him.”

“He is at war,” Canada said tightly as the two women brought over covered trays.

“You don’t think I know that?! You don’t think I’m breaking laws to help him? What else can I do?”

“Take him the food. None of the rest of us can get him to eat.”

America snatched the trays, walking away from Canada before he got in a fight with him. He made his way back to England’s room, surprised when he didn’t find him still in the parlor. Going into the bedroom he saw him lying in the bed and paused. The blankets had slid down to his waist, revealing the bruises on his skin. America came to the bedside. “Oh, Arthur...”

“What are you doing back?” England murmured, not bothering to open his eyes.

“I told you if you didn’t come in ten minutes I was coming back for you. I brought you something to eat.”

“Thank you... but I am not hungry.”

“Did you eat all the peanut butter I brought you? I can get more.” America settled the trays on the nightstand and sat down on the edge of the bed. “C’mon, give it a try.”

“Alfred...” England heaved a sigh and rolled to face him. “I'm so tired,” he whispered.

“Eating will help.” He turned, reaching for him so he could prop him up against the pillows. “Do it for your people.”

England twined his fingers with America’s. “I ate early this afternoon.”

“It’s evening now, you should eat again.” America reached for one of the small Christmas pastries with his hand and held it England’s lips.

“I can feed myself.” Arthur scowled and took it from him with a glare.

“As long as it gets in your stomach.” He squeezed England’s hand gently and offered him a smile.

England glared at him as he took a bite as if to day _‘See?’_ He looked away as he ate, pulling the blanket to his shoulders.

America watched him. “I talked to my boss while I was away. We’re going to try and get more aide over here.”

“Bedroom.”

“That rule still applies, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” America pulled the tray closer and waited for England to take another piece. England’s fingers felt cold and he wrapped his other hand over them.

“I am surprised you are here.”

“I couldn’t stay away when I heard you were getting sicker. I don’t know what to do to help...” His eyes moved over the marks on England’s shoulders.

“You can’t... and I don't think ill of you for it.”

“I’d understand if you blamed me.”

“Well, I don't so stop trying to be a martyr.”

America lay his head against England’s blanketed legs. He’d been torturing himself, he knew it. “You have to survive this,” he whispered.

“I'm the British Empire of course I will.” He stroked America's hair.

“Too mean to die, huh?” America closed his eyes, leaning into the touch.

“Don't be an arse.”

“Is that what you want for Christmas?”

“For you not to be an arse?”

“I didn’t bring you anything. Kind of forgot it was Christmas, although I guess the rest of the guys were talking about it all week.”

“I want...” He paused. “You to give me one thing. Whatever I want.”

“Name it.”

“I... want you to kiss me. Actually kiss me,” he whispered.

America’s eyes opened, looking up at him. England wasn’t looking at him at first, but when America sat up, his eyes flicked up to him. He climbed up onto the bed and settled beside him. England shifted to face him and America hooked his fingers under England’s chin. He leaned into him, mouth brushing against England’s. _I’ve said all I can say. Your move, sweetheart._ He pushed harder into the kiss, taking advantage of England’s small gasp to deepen the kiss.

He hadn't actually expected America to follow through. A quiet moan escaped him and he surrendered to the younger’s advance, his hands curling in Americas sleeves with a keen if delight. He missed this. He missed America.

America knew he shouldn’t stay this close. It was like the last time, hard to stop once he started, especially as his arm slid around England’s back and the knowledge of the intimacy of his undress. He wanted to be with him. This was dangerous. They couldn’t, not yet. He needed something more. It was like an ache in his chest. Kissing England eased it, but it didn’t heal it. He panted for breath as they broke the kiss. “Merry Christmas.”

England's eyes remained closed as he breathed. “Happy Christmas. Yes, happier than I thought it was going to be.”

America’s fingers slid along England’s jaw. He should leave again. It wasn’t fair to either of them, but he couldn’t make himself move. “I lo...” He cut himself off by pressing a soft kiss to England’s mouth.

England hummed happily, wrapping his arms around Americas neck, fingers twirling with the hair at the nape of his neck. He was cold and sore and this felt incredible. He felt safe and warmer than he had in weeks.

America’s arm tightened around England’s waist. If only he could will away the threat. It felt like such a long time since they’d been like this. In the grand scheme of things, it hadn’t been long, but 1939, before the war began for England, felt like a different reality. England pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth before tucking beneath his chin to yawn. “Sleep, Arthur.”

“Will you stay?” England's fingers tightened in his shirt as if he could hold him there.

“It’s Christmas. I’ll stay.”

England yawned, tucking his face against Alfred's neck, soaking up warmth and presence, sleep quick to pull at him. “Thank you, my love.” It was a whisper.

America took a shaky breath. “Rest well, darlin’.” There wasn't even a response. It appeared England had fallen asleep just after his words, exhaustion, his own and that of the people who saw no ending to the air raids, dragging him under like an anchor at sea.

Just like the last time America was in this bed he was left alone with his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave us a comment or a kudo! We love hearing from you!


	6. Darkest Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a night they fight to save London, England finally finds the courage to say something that he'd held close to his heart. America discovers that although what he'd been waiting for finally came, they are no closer to ending the war.

_December 29th, 1940_

_London, England_

_1700 hrs_

England tightened his belt as he pulled on one of uniforms. He was going out with the Auxiliary Fire Brigade this evening. Hopefully, it would be an easy night. But who knew. Not that any night where his capital was on fire was easy. There was no apparent rhyme or reason to the _Luftwaffe_ attacks. A subtle, nervous knock on his bedroom door let him know exactly who it was. “Come in, Alfred.”

“You shouldn’t be up yet,” he said. “It was a rough night last night.”

“I'm going out with the brigade.” He grabbed his hat.

“Then I should go with you or something. You’re not going to be any good to anyone if your body gives out while you’re trying to rescue someone.” America stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.

“I was fine for months on my own.” England frowned, turning to see him.

“Are you sending me away?”

“No, I'm not... but...” He hesitated. “No.”

“Then I’m coming with you. I can help.”

“I...” He swallowed. “All right, Matthew is coming as well.”

“Then I can keep an eye on him, too.” America walked over to his bags and rummaged around for a sweater. His things had been delivered to England’s rooms the day after Christmas.

“Alfred... if you do come I need you to promise me something.”

Pausing, America turned around. “Promise you what?”

“I need you to do whatever I tell you to do. I need you to promise me that you will do what I ask.”

America’s brow furrowed. “That sounds like you’re planning on doing something dangerous.”

“It’s war Alfred... and I need you to promise.”

America shifted uncomfortably. “I’ll do my best.”

“No.” England was stern, stepping into America’s space. “I need a promise or you can stay here. You have to promise that you'll do as I say.”

“As long as you promise not to put me in a position where I can’t help you.”

“Alfred.” His voice took on a hard edge. “Right now I am asking as Arthur I don't want to have to be your commanding officer.”

“All right. I promise, just keep in mind what I’m asking of you.”

“I'm not promising anything.”

“And I’m not asking you to.” America stepped closer, checking on the bandage on England’s forehead.

“Good,” England murmured looking up at him. “I'm okay, Alfred.”

“I know. But I worry about you anyway.” He gave him a small smile. England smiled back at him and stepped away, pulling on the chin strap of his hard hat.

“Well, let's go then.”

***

“The assault is centered around parts of the city that contain numerous non-private structures, places of worship, workplaces, and stockrooms. Huge numbers of them are bolted up and aren't on the list of focused protection for the fire brigade!” England bellowed over the sirens and the planes. His car zipped around a corner, Canada and America jamming their shoulders against each other in the back seat. The car protested and whined, barely heard over the screaming of an incendiary and the groaning of the city. “Fuck! I'm almost out petrol!” England beat the steering wheel as the car shuddered to a stop with a growl.

“Is there somewhere to fill it up? I can take the gas can,” America said, pushing out of the seat.

“We don't have the time!”

“Then I guess we’re going on foot.” America tapped the car. “Or you go ahead and I’ll get this guy fired up.”

“Leave it. Boys come on!” England took off down the street, flinching every time a rattle shook the streets, casting worried glances at the sky. They followed after him, keeping close. The noise grew as they came closer. An explosion set their ears ringing as it knocked the glass out of a set of windows overhead. England felt himself being pulled sideways, America trying to get him away from the falling shards.

England grasped his hands for a moment in thanks before bolting forward. The shouts of men could be heard as they got closer to the orange glow that lit the sky. A man scrambled into view, skidding across the concrete to avoid pieces of a roof collapsing in flames “John!” Canada and England's voices sounded in unison. The man, dark with soot stared up at them in bleary confusion before recognition crossed his face.

“Sir!”

“What's going on why aren't the hoses being used!?” England crouched down, pulling the man to his feet.

“There's not enough pressure.” The man coughed. “The water main was bombed!”

“And we can't use the Thames the water is too low.” England stared at him, panic etching his features for moment before determination covered it. London was burning. Just like in 1666. “Matthew.”

“Water pressure I got it.” The Canadian nation nodded, hands curling into fists. “I'll see what I can do.”

“And-”

“And then deflection I know.”

“John, can you-”

“I'm fine.” The man nodded.

“Then please take Matthew to the water main,” England ordered and the two nodded, taking off into the smoke. 

America caught hold of England’s sleeve, coughing. “What are you going to do?”

“We are going to help with evacuations,” England said firmly. “The less people that die the better.”

“Let’s get going then.” America moved off and ducked into one of the nearby buildings to clear it. England stared after him for a moment before darting off into another building. It was going to be a long night.

***

America felt relief when most of the buildings he checked were already empty, people had gotten to the shelters in time. He adjusted his bandana over his face as the smoke got thicker. He tried to shake off the feeling of so many other city fires he’d experienced. Chicago. San Francisco. New York. He paused in a doorway before stepping out into the street. This couldn’t happen to him. He wouldn’t allow it. The list of his cities continued in his head, completely distracting him as he went into another building. People were shouting off in the distance, but he couldn’t hear it over the roaring of the flames, the sound of airplane engines overhead, and the scream of falling bombs.

“Alfred!” England's scream cut through the noise around him.

America looked out into the street, trying to see through the dirt and rubble to find him. Panic coursed through his veins. He moved out into the street. He couldn’t see him!

“Alfred!” The shout sounded again and when America skirted a corner he found England crouched by two children. They surrounded a woman who appeared to be their mother, her leg was trapped beneath a chunk of building that had collapsed. America ran over immediately, hooking his fingers against the bricks still held together with their chinking. It lifted, the woman able to pull her leg from its trap.

“Finally found a public use for that inhumane strength,” England croaked, yanking off his coat to bind the womans leg. There was no way that she could walk on it. The children were too terrified to move. England peered up at the sky. The dome of Saint Paul's cathedral appeared hazy through the smoke. Winston's words haunted him ‘ _Saint Paul's must not go down’_ he glanced to the woman and then to America. It took so much damn energy to maintain a traveling protection charm without proper preparation. And to create a dome around a structure as large as Saint Paul’s... he swallowed. “Alfred, you need to grab these three and take them to the nearest bomb shelter. And then stay there to help.”

“You should come with us,” America said, grasping England’s arm for a moment before getting pushed away.

“No, I am going to go ahead. You take them. Hurry”

“Be careful, got it?” America said, stepping away to pick up the woman. “You two follow me now, all right?” he said to the children.

England watched as the children burst into tears and their mother began to panic. “Can you carry all three of them?”

“I can give it a try, it’s not so much weight as not enough arms.” He knelt down. “It’s going to be a piggy back ride, okay? Just hang on.”

Stepping forward, England grabbed the little girl and hoisted her onto Americas shoulders. He had to cast that charm. As America straightened England cupped his cheeks, pressing a hard kiss to his mouth. “Alfred.” This was it.

America stared at him. “Arthur.” England turned away from him and the little children started crying again. He had to take them. He moved off towards the bomb shelter.

Taking a deep breath, England stared up at the dome before turning on his heal again. “Alfred!”

Hearing his name, America stopped. He turned to look at him, his face full of questions.

He didn't know he could feel this light, especially in the face of all this. It was so simple. Why did it take this long? He smiled. “I love you!”

America’s face was raw, open and England could see the emotion welling up in his face. Rubble tumbled as another bomb fell a street over. England couldn’t hear what he said back, only that he was taking the family to safety. England took a deep breath, taking off at a run. He could already feel the drain from his charm on America, but he felt lighter than he had in weeks. A plane's engine caught his attention as he ran for the cathedral. They seemed to be following the same course. He felt the fizzing at his fingertips. He was going to try and protect an entire cathedral from a bomb. He swallowed.

_Fuck._

***

_December 30, 1940_

_London, England_

The light was gray that morning, America only focused on finding England. He’d taken the family to the shelter and been locked in before he could get back out to continue helping. The order had been given for everyone to take cover. It was too much for the rescuers. Everyone had been ordered underground to wait it out. He’d waited by the door until it was opened, the first one out so that he could begin searching for him. He picked his way through the destruction towards the direction England had gone. The cathedral sat untouched in the smoky sunlight.

“You there!” A man bellowed as a team of the fire brigade exited the cathedral. “You’re in the Eagle Squadron!?”

“Yeah, I’m looking for someone. Seen a guy with blond hair, just a little shorter than me? Big eyebrows?”

“You must be Jones. We were told to keep an eye out for you. Officer Kirkland was found this morning inside of the cathedral. Only one bomb hit the building.” He gestured to one of the men behind him. “Pyle here saw the whole thing happen.”

“Into the dark shadowed spaces below us, while we watched, whole batches of incendiary bombs fell. We saw two dozen go off in two seconds. They flashed terrifically, then quickly simmered down to pin points of dazzling white, burning ferociously... The greatest of all the fires was directly in front of us. Flames seemed to whip hundreds of feet into the air. Pinkish-white smoke ballooned upward in a great cloud, and out of this cloud there gradually took shape—so faintly at first that we weren’t sure we saw correctly—the gigantic dome of St Paul’s Cathedral. St Paul’s was surrounded by fire, but it came through. It stood there in its enormous proportions—growing slowly clearer and clearer, the way objects take shape at dawn. It was like a picture of some miraculous figure that appears before peace-hungry soldiers on a battlefield,” the man rattled off, as if repeating a correspondent. It certainly sounded like something that could be droned over the radio into households around the world.

“Yeah... we were told if we saw you to send you straight to the palace.”

“What do you mean found? Did he collapse?” America didn’t really wait for an answer, hurrying away from the place to get back to the palace.

“Alfred, took you long enough where ze hell have you been!?” France said, intercepting America as he flew through the doors. He caught America by the arm to stall him. America yanked away and kept walking, although he wasn’t sure where to go.

“I got stuck in an underground shelter when I was taking civilians there, no one would let me out until the all clear came through. Where’s Arthur?”

France was quiet for a minute. “He and Matthew are in the infirmary.”

America dashed down the hall, a sinking feeling in his stomach. He didn’t pause even when people tried to stop him. He could tell that France wasn’t far behind him and he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw them.

Both men were asleep inside of stark white beds. Patches of pink shiny skin spoke of burns that were days old rather than a couple of hours. They were hooked up to IV's, bruises around their eyes and veins flush against their skin in dark blue trails. France made a small noise behind him.

“What happened?” America asked. His voice shook. He couldn’t look away, he just stepped forward. He put a hand on each of their beds. He’d never seen either of them like this.

“You wouldn't believe us if we told you,” Canada grunted as his eyes cracked open to look at him, “You found him Francis.”

“Matt...” America reached out and squeezed his brother’s hand.

“Where were you hiding while I was out doing all the hero work?” he grinned.

“Ass,” America rolled his eyes. “I was saving people from burning buildings. Then they closed the doors on me in a shelter and wouldn’t let me out.”

“Likely excuse,” he snorted.

“You’re lying in a hospital bed and you can’t cut me a break?” America sniffed, trying not to let the emotion well up. He reached out his other hand to England. “Seriously, what did you do? Did you get caught in a blast?”

“You could say that.” Canada shrugged, flinching. He looked to England and then France. “Did you...?”

“ _Non._ ” The French nation shook his head.

America’s fingers wrapped around England’s hand. He felt cold, but he could see the rise and fall of his chest. Canada squeezed his hand. “What about Arthur?” The last words he’d said to him came back like a freight train. England loved him, had said so.

“Tired.” England's response came out in a wheeze.

“Arthur,” America said, turning to him and taking his hand up in both of his. The emotion did seep out now, tears falling down his face.

“Alfred,” Canada whispered and England's eyes fluttered open.

“What's going on?” England turned towards America.

“You’re in the infirmary,” France said, when America couldn’t compose himself enough to answer. “You saved the church, _mon ami._ You and _Mathieu._ ”

“I know that, you twit. I was talking about Alfred?” England reached up and hesitated slightly, slowly allowing his fingers to touch America's cheeks. “Are you hurt? Why are you crying?”

“You can’t just say that sort of thing to me and get yourself blown up!” America choked out.

“I did not get blown up I am right here!” England scolded. “Don't even you two!” he added as he heard the other two whisper to each other guesses of what could have been said.

“Jerk,” America mumbled, leaning over and kissing him. England went rigid, mortified to be caught like this by the other two. Some of the tension left him and he kissed the other back softly. America pulled back, feeling unsure from England’s reaction. He kept hold of his hand, gently brushing his thumb over England’s palm. “What’s wrong?” America asked.

“You'll have to tell him, _Angleterre,_ ” Francis commented, crawling into Canada's bed on the other side, the youngest blond leaning against him with a hum.

“I know.” England turned his head towards America and said nothing else. It took America a moment but then he realized that England wasn't really looking at him.

“You can’t see?” America placed his hand on his cheek.

The touch startled him and England shook his head. He didn't get to respond before America interrupted him to ask how many fingers he was holding up. “I'm sorry, Alfred.”

There was a weight on England’s bedside, England moved his hand, feeling the strands of America’s hair where he laid his head down on the bed. He shook, muffling his weeping in the sheets.

“Alfred, love...” England murmured, stroking his hair.

America scooted forward, pressing his face against England’s leg through the blankets as if trying to make sure he was all there.

“It will be okay, I promise,” England said quietly, continuing to stroke America’s head. “Francis another blanket, please.” He heard the rustling of France getting off the bed. It was a puff of air that alerted him to the fact that France was dropping the blanket over America's shaking form. “Thank you.” It would appear they were all spending the night here.

It was some time later, Canada and France’s breath even with sleep when America spoke again. “Will I hurt you if I get in beside you?” he asked.

“No. It’s fine.” England yawned. The bed creaked slightly as America added his weight to the narrow space. He settled down next to England and touched his face gently.

“What are you thinking?” He turned his face towards the touch.

“About what you said to me. And that you ended up hurt.” America leaned his forehead against England’s.

“It's a war Alfred I was bound to get some injury,” England murmured. “And... I.. saw you say something last night but I couldn't hear you.”

“I said you better come back to me.”

“Well, I did.” He sniffed haughtily as he could.

“You did.” America leaned closer, his words ghosting over England’s lips. “And everything’s changed.”

“Nothing's changed because my sight is gone, Alfred.”

“No, because you said you love me.”

“Oh...” England paused. “I've known for a long time... I just didn't know how to say it.”

“I’m glad you figured it out. I thought I’d never get to hear it.”

“Well I do... love you that is.” He burned with embarrassment.

“I love you, too.” America smiled, he kissed him. England sighed into the kiss, pressing forward against the other, wincing as his body ached in protest, but he continued anyways. America helped settle England against him until he was comfortable. “You should get some sleep. Heal as much as you can.”

“That's what I was going to do,” England mumbled.

“I’ve got you. Rest.” He pressed one more soft kiss against England’s mouth. England could taste the dust from the city and the salt from his tears.

***

It was still dark when England woke up. He could feel himself blink and that was it. His vision hadn’t magically returned overnight. He should be upset but he wasn't. He had known that this was a possible side effect of magic overload. He had come to terms with the fact that this may happen during this war. Whether or not it was permanent he did not know.

America was wrapped around him, head on his shoulder. He made a small sound as England moved. “Alfred... I think you're on my IV.”

America pushed himself up, checking the bottle and the tube. “Everything looks right.”

“Oh.” England yawned. “Alright then... what... time of day is it?”

“Uh,” America’s clothing rustled as he was probably checking his watch. “Before dawn.”

“We slept a whole day?”

“You did. You were bombed again.”

“Oh.” He didn't know what to say to that. “Of course.”

“Matt was feeling better and he went back out. We tried to stop him, but he came back just tired.”

“Where is he now?”

“Back in his room. The doctors said he could recover there.”

“I wish to return to mine as well.”

“Do you want me to wake someone up? Or sneak you out of here?” America asked. He came back to England’s bed, the mattress dipping as he sat.

“Let’s leave. I want my own bed.” His fingers found the needle in his arm and pulled it out.

America came over to him, hooking his arms beneath him and lifting him from the bed.

“You’re in no shape to walk, so no arguments.” He cradled England against his chest as he carried him away. “Gonna have to sneak past the night shift.”

“Tell them to bloody mind their own business,” England muttered. “I haven't properly bathed in two days and those beds are terribly uncomfortable.”

“Bath or bed first?” America asked as they slipped out down the hallway, luckily not encountering anyone.

“Bath, please,” England groaned at the thought. They made it to England’s rooms and America settled him down on the parlor couch.

“I’ll get the water started. Wait here.” He pressed a kiss to the top of England’s head.

“All right,” England murmured and listened to America's footsteps disappear into the bedroom. He knew this room. He shouldn't need his sight to get around it. Pushing to his feet he wobbled and gripped the arm of the couch. He could make it. The water started running in the bathroom and England could hear America’s footsteps as he tried to take a few steps.

Shuffling along the carpet England used furniture to help guide himself along until he heard America swear. “Oh, come off it.”

“Let me help you.” America took him by the elbow, startling England with the sudden touch.

England yanked away with a shout, mistepping and tumbling to the floor with a swear as everything flared in pain. America came close again. “I’m going to pick you up. Don’t push yourself.”

England's eyes screwed shut in frustration. “Fine.” His arms twined around America’s neck as he was picked up off the floor. He bit the inside of his cheek as his bruises were touched. Then his stomach growled.

“Let’s get you in the bath and then I’ll call for some food from the kitchen. Here, hold onto the sink.” America sat him down. His fingers went to the buttons of the hospital shirt.

“I can do it, Alfred, just send up for something to eat.”

“I don’t want you to slip. If you fall and break your neck... not happening on my watch.”

“I was referring to unbuttoning my shirt, Alfred.” He heaved a sigh, but offered no other protest. He had hoped to be in the water before America could see his body. With the bruises and the healing burn marks, he was as colorful as a painter's palate. Reds, blues, greens, yellows... all blossomed over his skin these days.

“Here, then.” He took England’s hands and helped him across the bathroom, putting his hands on the edge of the tub. “You can get in when you’re ready. I’ll call down for some food.”

“All right,” England murmured, waiting for America's steps to fade away before beginning the slow process.

***

America waited in the parlor for the food. It was still early, so there wasn’t much to be had that was warm. They soon arrived with some crackers and a few other things that America assumed were rations. He listened to the small, pained sounds that had come from the bathroom as the water had sloshed slightly as England had gotten in. He’d been turning over the look on England’s face as he told him he’d loved him in every moment that wasn’t occupied. The relief. The calm. England wouldn’t have waited this long if it wasn’t true. Yet, he couldn’t shake some hesitation that clung deep down. The wound that they had created wasn’t gaping anymore, but it still wasn’t altogether healed.

The tray of food was a welcome grounded weight as he stood up and brought it into the steam filled bathroom.

“That was fast.” England didn't bother opening his eyes as his rested his head on the lip of the tub, letting the edge take some of his weight. The warmth eased some of the aches and pain.

“They haven’t finished the main breakfast. They sent up some crackers and canned meat from the looks of it.” America came over to the edge of the tub. He held it out and then remembered England couldn’t see it. “It’s on your right.” Although the bath salts that England had added clouded the water, he could see other wounds and America felt helpless. He hated that feeling. Why wouldn’t anyone hurry up back home? They read the newspapers and heard the radio! Then the flutter of last night came back. They didn’t want it to happen to them too.

England rubbed at his eyes with a groan. “I am so sick of being on rations.”

“My boss will probably meet with Winston in the new year. You can come for the meeting and have all the food you want.”

“I don’t know if my conscience would allow it.” He sighed and then frowned. “Why aren’t you getting in?” He held up his hand. “Wait. The bedside table on the right side of my bed.”

“What do you need from it?”

“My silver smokes case.”

He heard America get up and move off into the bedroom. Soon something small and metal clinked onto the food tray. “There you go.”

“Thank you.” He smiled.

America smiled back, then remembering that England couldn’t see him, said, “You’re welcome. Do you need anything else?” He ran his hand through the water as he leaned on the side of the tub.

“No.”

“Okay. Do you still want me to get in?”

“Why wouldn't you?”

America pulled his hand back, stepping away from the tub to undress. He started to turn away, but realized there really wasn’t much point. It really did feel like it had been a lifetime ago that they’d done this, even if it wasn’t long at all. The world had changed so much in such a short time. “I’m ready,” he said. He waited to see if England would move forward or stay where he was.

“Stop taking so long you’re going to catch your death.”

“Scoot forward then,” he said.

“Still needy as ever.” England heaved a dramatic sigh and scooted forward. America got in behind him and pulled England back against his chest. America took a shaky breath as their bodies pressed together, it was almost as if nothing had happened between them. That they had rolled back the clock. Only England felt thin, less substantial than he used to in his arms.

“Some things don’t change,” America said. He pressed his nose into the back of England’s damp hair.

“Mmhm,” England hummed relaxing against him. “Much better.”

Pressing a kiss to the back of England’s neck in reflex, before wrapping his arms around England’s middle. “It feels like another life to be back here with you.”

“There's the sappy behavior,” England drawled. He hoped America didn't think that would be him all now that he and confessed.

“Just saying.”

“Uh huh.” England trailed his fingers lazily over America's thighs in habit. “This water is wonderful.”

“Don’t think I’ve sat in a bath for nearly a year. Just quick showers.”

“Baths are better.”

“Not when you’re trying to be efficient.” His glasses clattered onto the food tray at the side of the tub. “But you shouldn’t worry about that right now.”

“What should I be worrying about?”

“Nothing.” He leaned back against the edge of the tub, pulling England against his chest. “How are your eyes?”

“Dark,” England said dryly, his head tipped back.

America put his fingers in England’s hair, combing through the strands. “It’ll mend. If a gunshot can mend... the rest of this will too.”

“I suppose.” He sighed.

“What?”

England's fingers curled against his inner thigh. “It’s nothing.”

“Talk to me.” America’s hands drifted down over England’s neck and to his shoulders, sliding against the marks there. A small intake of breath.

“That's the last thing I want to do.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Obviously more than you.” England sighed, head falling forward and pulled his hands from America's thighs to grasp at his knees. “Forget about it. You said they sent crackers?”

America was quiet for a moment. “They did.” A swallow. He touched England’s back gently, fingers brushing over the marks that became ever more visible as England leaned forward.

“Well, could you grab me some, please?” England's lips pursed. “I'm not going to break.”

“I never said you were.” One hand left to return to bump into England’s hand with the food.

“You didn't have to say it.” He shoved two of them into his mouth.

“I haven’t touched you in nearly a year, part of me thought it would never happen again. Excuse me while I savor it.” His tone grew a little hard-edged. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to England’s shoulder.

“You can savor it, but not drive me bonkers with impatience, Alfred,” England whined after he swallowed.

“Have you been wanting me?” America wrapped his arms around England’s middle again, one hand resting on his stomach.

“Fuck off.” England scowled.

America pulled back. “What’s wrong?”

“I am not going to play games with you, Alfred.” He had finally gotten the courage to confess and yet nothing was going right! This was supposed to be easy now. Frustrated tears gathered at the corners of his eyes.

“Turn around. Look at me.” America said, giving England room to turn in his arms. He tucked his fingers under England’s chin. He pressed a soft kiss to his mouth. “Savor it with me, Arthur.” He pressed another kiss to his mouth, fingers drifting over his neck and over his shoulders.

“You did not just tell me to look at you,” England muttered kissing him anyways, fingertips pressing into his shoulders.

America made a sound of apology, arms wrapping around England’s waist. He leaned forward, bending England back a little so he had to wrap his arms around his neck.

England hummed into the kiss, thrilled with finally being able to do so. “Alfred.” A little sigh of pleasure slipped out. America trailed the fingers of one hand up England’s spine, pausing over every vertebrae as if he was retracing him, building a new image in his mind. It settled on the back of England’s neck, protective. Just a little bit possessive.

“Al-” The words died on England's lips as he was interrupted by the loud rumbling of his stomach.

“First time I have you naked in my arms and your stomach gets in the way.” He gave a shake of his head, but smiled at England softly. He reached over for the tray, picking up a cracker and holding it out for England. “Too bad there isn’t anything more substantial.”

“Breakfast should be done when we are done with the bath.” England pressed his head underneath America’s chin.

“Yeah, but it’s still a rationed breakfast. I need to get more food sent for you.”

“They got eggs yesterday,” he murmured in happiness.

“Good.” America folded his knees, keeping England close. He took a deep breath.

“What?” England waited for the other to continue.

“Don’t want to talk about it right now. Just something occurred to me.”

England frowned. “You can't say that and not tell me.”

“I’m still not officially in the war.”

“Yes, I'm aware.”

A pause. A deep breath. “Does it matter anymore?”

“What the bloody hell are you on about? Just spit it out, Alfred.”

“Are we going to tell the rest of the world to go fuck themselves if they try to keep us apart anymore?”

England sat for a moment. “Yes.”

America was silent and England reached up to touch his face, feeling the edges of his smile. He pressed his mouth to England’s, the kiss quivering with America’s energy.

“Calm down, big boy, you'll shake out all the water.”

“I’m being gentle.” America smoothed his fingers against the back of England’s neck. “You should eat more.”

“Well, get on it.”

Reaching over for the tray, he picked up another cracker and pressed it against the back of England’s hand. He couldn’t stop smiling. It felt like something had shifted in his chest. England felt familiar again, despite the bruises and the injuries, he was still the same. “How do you feel?” America asked.

“Like you don’t know me at all.”

America’s smile dimmed. “Huh?”

England's brow arched. “Why would I feed myself when I have you hear to do it for me?” He sniffed haughtily, a grin tugging at his mouth. America’s cheeks flushed, but he brought the cracker to England’s lips.

“You’re turning pink as a virgin, aren't you?” It was more of a statement rather than a question before he bit into the offering.

“Are you sure you can’t see?” America asked.

“You haven't changed since I first bent you in half during your civil war, Alfred, it's not hard.”

America brushed some of the crumbs from England’s lips. “I have to have changed a little.”

“Not that I can remember, no.”

“You’ve changed.”

“Doubtful.”

“I guess you always did have soft edges for me. You let me see more now.” America pressed a kiss to England’s cheek.

“Brat.” England huffed turning his head.

America caught England’s chin and turned his face back towards him. His mouth was warm as he pressed another kiss on him. “But you love me.” His voice was full of affection, wanting to hear England say it again. The moment on the street played in his mind.

England merely hummed in response, kissing him back, this time being the one to deepen the kiss. Long fingers threaded through flaxen hued hair, taking advantage of the gasp, twining his tongue around the others. A low moan scraping the back of his throat. England’s touch sent a quiver through America’s body as he kissed him back. He wanted him and the way England moved against him, it was obvious the other knew it.

“Alfred.” The name was mumbled against his thrumming pulse as England slipped a hand between them. For just a moment England was afraid for his tub, America rocked forward so violently into the touch England was sure the tub was gonna flip. He swallowed a laugh, chuckling against America’s throat.

“Don’t you dare stop.” America groaned into the top of his head.

“Who said anything about stopping? Although you didn't specify anything about not dragging it out?” he grinned. It only lasted for a moment before the grin disappeared in surprise as the man beneath him went rigid. “Oh.”

America pressed his face against England’s shoulder as his body relaxed. He kissed his collarbone. “Sorry, babe. Wasn’t expecting it to go like that. I’m not done for good though.” He smoothed his hands down his sides.

“No, it's all good.” England pressed a soft kiss to the side of his head. “I'm hungry and tired.”

“Let’s get you dried off and I’ll go see about those eggs.” He kissed the side of his neck.

“Perfect.” England grinned. “Chop, chop, then boy.”

America chuckled and hooked an arm around England’s waist and stood up, pulling them both out of the water. A soft towel was wrapped around England’s shoulders, the cloth rubbing gently over his body.

“Are...are you going to stay?” He had to ask the question.

“For as long as I can.”

“I guess I can't ask for anything more.” He shrugged.

“I’m not going to leave you unless it’s really important.” He kissed England’s forehead. He hoisted England up into his arms and stepped out of the tub. He tucked the towel around England and carried him into the bedroom.

“You know you don’t have to go anywhere you can pull the cord.”

“Let me put you in bed first and then I’ll summon someone.”

“All right…” America settled him on the bed, pulling the blankets over him and for a moment he was gone. England could hear the ring of the bell and then the blankets were being pulled back again. America’s slightly damp skin pressed up against his side. That was all it took before the tears came forth. It had hit him in the tub when America had slumped against him spent. There was a high possibility that he would never see the man's face again.

America wrapped his arms around him, pressing his mouth to England’s hair. “It’s going to be okay.” His hands smoothed over England’s back.

“You can't bloody know that!”

“I’m gonna believe it though. You were there for me when I thought I was going to fade, I’m here now. We’re gonna get through.”

England wanted to believe him. But this was magic related who knew? "I just..." He shook his head.

“Just what?” America asked, he began to pull back and then seeming to remember that England couldn’t see him, kept his face close. His nose brushed against England’s.

"I don't know what I'll do if I can never see your face again," England whispered, the terror overriding any mortification.

America pressed his forehead against England’s. He took his hands, holding them in his own. “You’ll find a new way to see me.”

"Alfred..." England shook his head, pressing his face into the pillow. He couldn't handle this.

“What do you need? What can I do?”

England shook his head once more, drawing his knees into his chest. What was he going to do? America held him, letting England weep. His arms were safe, so familiar. He brushed his fingers up and down his spine, a comforting touch. There was a knock on the door and Ronald stuck his head in. "I have breakfast."

Pulling the blanket up over their heads, America called back, “Just put it by the bed. We won’t need anything for a while.”

"Should I cancel everything for the day?"

“He’s in recovery.”

"I- uh- all right." The young man nodded and dashed out after the cart was rolled in. The door closed with a click and they were alone again. America didn’t move the blanket right away. He resumed his gentle touches as England tried to calm himself.

"I'm fine." England sniffed, rubbing at his eyes. "I'm fine."

“Was it the attack that caused it?”

"In a way."

America took a shaky breath and pressed his nose into England’s damp hair. “Let’s get you something to eat and then you can rest. Then you can prove to Ludwig and the rest that no matter what you’re still you.”

"Eating and sleeping sounds divine." England turned into America, lips finding the hollow of his throat.

England could hear the sound of the tray being moved closer to them and the lid being removed. The smell of eggs seemed to hit him in the stomach. Soon the smell was beneath his nose and he could feel the warmth. America was holding it out for him.

"See I've trained you well." England tried for a lighter tone as he took the offering.

“Don’t get too used to it,” America replied, a joking tone coming into his own. He was quiet as another bite was offered. England swallowed with relish, humming in delight at the hot food.

“What are you thinking on?”

“I told you before, I like seeing you eat.”

"Well, I have heard of stranger kinks."

“Your face says exactly what you are thinking when you eat.” The smell of more eggs drifted under England’s nose.

"And what is it saying?" He asked dryly

“That despite everything that’s going on, you’re happy right now. In this moment.”

England grew still, mind whirling the statement around. America was right. Everything was going to hell, although just two days ago his world was literally burning and he lost his sight protecting it, but right now he was happy. He was in a comfortable bed, his belly was warm, and he had America back for the moment. He was happy. In the blackness that was the war, he would take what he could get. "Git."

America leaned against the pillow beside him and England could feel the weight of the tray on his legs. “We’re stealing today.”

"How so?" England followed the line of America’s arm with his finger tips to settle on his chest.

“You’re staying here, with me. I’ll help you with any work you need to do. We’ll have meals sent up.” 

"What if I don't want to do that?"

“What do you want to do?”

"I didn't exactly have work on my mind right now."

“I meant later.” England could hear the smile in his voice.

"I don't even mean later."

“That so?” America moved closer, the tray being moved out of the way. He wrapped an arm around England.

“That is so,” England hummed with a grin, only to be interrupted by a yawn.

America chuckled, pulling England against his chest so he could rest his head. “Sleep, Arthur.”

“Not yet.”

America’s fingers drifted along England’s jaw and tilted his face up to his. His mouth was soft as their lips met. “Good, because I need some more of this.”

“Really kiss me, love,” England breathed, relishing in the fact that America had joined him in the bed without a stitch of clothing on, his hands exploring the bare expanse.

With a hum, America rolled on top of him, pressing England into the pillows. His kiss stayed soft, an affectionate tease. It was as England was about to pull back and chide him that it changed. America’s kiss was deep, the taste of him replacing all else in England’s mind.

It was a struggle. Having America on top of him was uncomfortable, his bruises and muscles sore and the weight aggravated them. But the last thing England wanted to do was stop touching him. He couldn't stop the moan as his drew his knees up aside Alfred's hip bones, surrendering to the dominance and protection that seeped from the other male.

America’s hand slid down England’s thigh, relishing in the touch of their bodies. He softened his grip as England took a sharp intake of air. “Sorry.”

“It's fine.” England's mouth found his jawline, exhaustion and desire battling for control of his body.

“I’ve missed you,” America mumbled, tilting his head to let England lay his kisses along his skin.

“And I you,” England breathed, ankles locking over America's back. America rocked against him, his mouth finding England’s again. “Fuck!” That was the only possible response to the pain that shuddered through him at the harsh movement. “Alfred, stop!”

He did, pushing up onto his hands and taking his weight off England. “Shit, I hurt you.” Guilt laced his voice.

“No, no,” England hissed through clenched teeth, as the sharpness faded to a dull throb. “No, it’s fine.”

America pressed a kiss to England’s collar bone. “Something to look forward to when you’re better. I won’t have to control myself then. So for now...” He shifted downwards, the insides of England’s thighs brushing over his ribs as America planted a kiss on his stomach.

“Alfred, don’t leave I said I'm fine.” England grabbed his shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere.” America took his hand, twining their fingers together on the sheets. He pressed a kiss to the jut England’s hip bone. “I can make you feel better.”

England inhaled sharply, this time not out of pain. “Alfred,” a keen on the ‘d’ betrayed the anticipation the curled in his gut at the thought.

America’s movements and touch stirred England deeply. He made a soft sound as England dug his fingers into his hair, tugging at the yellow strands as his pleasure grew. “Fuck, Alfred!” England chanted, shuddering. It was coming on too quickly, he didn't even have the time to be embarrassed. A warning scratched out of his throat. America didn’t relent, his actions continuing as England arched up. England’s mind went blank. It was only the soft kiss on the inside of his thigh that brought him back to his senses. He felt selfish, stealing his own moment of love in the chaos. He knew he wasn’t alone. He could make sense of it later. Right now, England didn’t want to think.

America’s fingers were in the crook of his knee. “I want to kiss every inch of you.” His voice was husky from his attentions, but filled with pure desire.

"Come here," England gasped,reaching for him he fumbled for a moment before pulling the other into a kiss, his other hand sneaking between them. He was growing tired very quickly but he could do this at least.

America groaned against his mouth, kissing him back and moving in the rhythm of England’s hand. His breathing changed, losing its steadiness.

"Honestly, the stamina of young men," England murmured as America buried a shout into his shoulder. America slumped to the side as he tried to catch his breath.

“You’re going to have to give me a moment if you want to wrangle another one out of me.” He wrapped his arms around England, relaxing against him.

"No, just a clean up and then a nap I think," he murmured, "I'm so very tired."

“I’ll be right back.” America kissed him and slid out from beneath the sheets, returning with a damp cloth that he ran over England’s body, then his own. “Rest now, sweetheart,” America said as he slid back into the bed, piling the blankets around them.

“Alfred...” England swallowed another yawn. “I love you.” The words trailed off as he curled into America's side, no time passing at all before he fell asleep. America followed after him, a contented feeling in his chest.

***

It was mid-afternoon when America woke up again. He startled awake, the nightmare fading even as he stared up into the canopy of England’s bed. The other was a warm weight on his arm, still breathing steadily in sleep. Turning on his side, America looked at England’s sleeping face. He brushed his fingers along his cheek. “Arthur.” The blond man did not move. He had always been a heavy sleeper.

He leaned forward and kissed him, squeezing him gently on the shoulder. It would be evening soon, America knew England would want to prepare for another onslaught. He hated the idea of it with every fiber of his being, but it was necessary. He also wanted to spend some more time with him before things happened again. “Come on, Arthur.” He shook him gently. Once again Arthur remained asleep, rolling over with the shaking. His breathing stayed the same and he showed no signs of waking.

Worry pooled in America’s stomach. England would have at least made a sound of complaint if he was being woken up when he wasn’t ready. He hadn’t moved. “Arthur!” America said, sitting up, his voice louder. He shook his shoulder again, but England’s body moved limply with the motion. He could see that he was breathing, but no matter what he did he couldn’t wake him. Panicked, America got out of the bed and found his trousers on the floor. He walked into the parlor, his hands shaking as he picked up England’s phone. The palace’s dispatcher answered. “I’m calling Matthew Williams.” His voice sounded distant to his own ears as his heart pounded.

“Alfred?” Canada’s voice answered on the line a moment later.

“Get to Arthur’s rooms right now.” He put the phone down and went back to England, trying once again to wake him.

“Alfred, what's going on?” Canada’s worried voice came from the parlour just over a minute later. The violet eyed blonde showed up in the doorway in a bathrobe, his hair a tousled mess. Apparently, they hadn't been the only two sleeping away the afternoon.

“He won’t wake up.” America’s voice broke at the end of the sentence, tears springing to his eyes. “I can’t get him to wake up.”

“Did you send for the court physician? He is sometimes hard to wake up. Did he have another fit?” Canada moved around the bed.

“No, I called you. He didn’t have any fits, he just fell asleep a few hours ago.” America nearly stopped Canada from touching him, needing to remind himself that he’d called him. “And I know how he is when he’s waking up. This is not normal. Something’s wrong.”

“Go call the physician.” Canada climbed on the bed and pressed his hand to England's forehead, panic rising in his own face.

America couldn’t move at first, then pulled himself away reluctantly. He went back to the telephone requesting a connection again. Just as he was hanging up, France walked into the door, his shirt-tails hanging out of his trousers. America barely looked at him before going back to the bedroom. In no time at all, the court Physician and the King rushed in, moving the nations out of the way. George ordered Canada to take America to the parlour to await the outcome.

“I’m not leaving him,” America protested, shrugging out of Canada’s grip when he tried to take his arm.

“Alfred,” The king looked up at him. “Please we can't get in the physicians way.”

America opened his mouth to protest again. “ _Amerique,_ come away. You can’t help Arthur right now,” France said. It took him and Canada to pull him back. When the door was closed in his face America tugged away from both of them and began to pace.

“Alfred, this physician knows what he's doing. He has been taking care of Arthur the entirety of the war.”

“And if he still doesn’t wake up?” America felt a lump lodged in his chest. He’d never seen it happen, but he’d heard stories from the older nations. If a nation was ailing or falling... no! He refused to even think it. “He has to be all right.”

“I'm sure he is just tired.”

“I am not overreacting, Matt!” America dropped down onto the couch, his head in his hands.

“I didn't say you were.” Canada sat beside him. “But this isn't the first time it’s been hard to wake him over the span of the war.”

“I just got him back...” America pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“I'm sure it will be okay,” Canada tried again. Minutes passed as tense silence fell over the parlor. The door to the bedroom opened and the physician stepped out, casting a nervous glance at America.

“It seems well...” He swallowed and the King exited the room behind him.

“Arthur has entered a coma.”

“He was talking to me a few hours ago.” America felt hollow. “You’ve got to be wrong.”

“Comas can come on at any time due to stress or brain injury,” the physician explained and Canada got to his feet.

“But he's a nation!”

“I know, but still in human like bodies and that's how it's presenting.”

America didn’t want to break down in front of the others. But he wanted to break something. Possibly Ludwig’s face for putting England through this. “Get out,” America said, looking at the floor and curling his fingers into his hair. “Get out!”

“Alfred.” He could feel Canada nearby, his hand hovering over his shoulder.

“Don’t touch me. Get them to leave.”

“You can't order the K-” the physician began to argue but was interrupted by his own yelp when George grabbed his arm and started hauling him out, France not far behind. Canada stared for a minute at his brother has if debating something, fingers rubbing together before he followed.

“Matt, wait... you can stay.” America doubled over, clutching his stomach as the door shut behind the others. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. “He... the last thing he said before he fell asleep was that he loves me.” Pain raced through him and he stood up, arms wrapped around himself.

“Alfred, he's not dead,” Canada whispered.

“We don’t know when he’ll come out of it thought, or if he’ll be the same.” He slammed his palm into the wall, the plaster cracking. “I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

“Arthur is always okay. He's the strongest nation we know.” Canada raised his hands up.

“Stop acting like you think I’m being dramatic. You’ve been out there, do you really think this war is the same as all of the old ones?” America whirled around. “If Francis was there instead of Arthur how would you feel? Or what if he’d come back different or had been fucking captured!?”

"You think you are the only one who cares?" Canada snapped. "Don't you dare!”

“I don’t want to fight with you!” America resisted the urge to kick the couch over. “I wanted some damn support!” He couldn’t hold it back anymore, tears welled up in his eyes.

"I was trying to be optimistic,do you want me to be doom and gloom?!" Canada shouted and pulled his brother into a hug.

“I told Arthur he would be okay.” He pressed his face into his brother’s shoulder, hugging him back.

"He is. I know it." Canada's repeated with a shaky breath.

America couldn’t seem to stop crying. He went through scenarios in his head. His mind raced. “If he doesn’t wake up soon I’m going to have to leave him.”

"I'll be here, he won't be alone." Hot tears fell on the top of America’s head.

“I’ll come back when I can do more. Things are going to change next year.”

"We can worry about that later. For now we should go see Arthur."

“Yeah.” America released him slowly, going towards the bedroom. The physician had tucked the blankets around England and an IV had been set up. America climbed up on the bed and tucked himself against England’s side. Canada followed after him, curling up on the other side.

"When was the last time we did this?"

“I don’t remember. A long time ago.”

"Back when we were colonies."

“That long, huh?” America lay his head on England’s chest, he could hear his heart beating. “I never asked... with Paris captured... is Francis okay?”

"A bit cranky sometimes, but for the most part, yes. He was a mess at first but England turned him around quick."

“You probably had something to do with it too. You’re being too modest, Matt.”

"I wasn't even here it when it happened."

“That makes two of us.” America pressed his face into the blankets. With a touch of modesty, he realized the room smelled like them both. They would have to move England to change the sheets. He reached across and squeezed Canada’s arm.

"I never realized how much Arthur sheltered us from things until I became a nation," he whispered.

“I learned that the hard way,” America replied. “And then even after I left, he was still watching out for me. I just didn’t see it.”

"Alfred... did he really say it out loud?” Joy and agony flashed through America.

“Yes, he did. Twice.”

“Wow...” Canada breathed. “I wasn't... sure he would ever admit it to you.”

“I wanted it so badly... and now...” A wave of emotion hit him in the stomach and he hid his face against the sheets. “Wake up, Arthur...” he whispered. Canada squeezed America’s forearm.

“I'm positive he will wake up, Al.” He laid his head on england's belly. “He has to.”

“Why did you think he would never tell me?”

“Because he’s Arthur.”

“He takes a long time, but we got there... he can’t ever just have small moments. I had to kiss him first...” Frustration filled America’s stomach. “Ludwig is going to be sorry he started this. I’m gonna punch his boss in the face.”

"As long as I am there too."

“If I get there first, I can’t promise anything.”

“I s'pose that's fair."

America nodded. “I’m really gonna try to get there first. Although, I might save a punch for Arthur. He deserves one.”

"He would appreciate that I am sure." Canada rubbed at his eyes.

“Yeah.” America reached up and cupped England’s cheek, wishing he could wake him up through sheer will. “I’m going to stay with him for now. If you want to go...”

"I don't want to, but I should prepare for the raid"

“I’ll keep him safe. Be careful out there, Matt, I can’t lose you too.”

“Never, Al,” Canada smiled as he pushed off the bed. “I will see you in the morning. Watch him.”

“Like an eagle.”

America curled into England’s side, laying his head on his chest. His breath continued to rise and fall and America pressed his ear against his skin. He could hear his heartbeat. The room fell into darkness as servants appeared to close the blackout curtains. It was almost like clockwork. The air raid sirens went off.

America held him tighter, wondering if the shaking would wake him up. His thoughts wandered to back home, how everyone felt. There were promises and ideas, but nothing concrete. Everyone was afraid. He could picture his people crowded around radios and listening to Edward R. Murrow beginning his radio announcements with ‘This is London’. He would describe in piercing detail what was going on. Families crowded around the radio in their living rooms, looking at nothing as they took in the horror of what was happening to a country that didn’t always make sense to them.

The British people were familiar and alien at the same time. He could remember all of the plays and writings of the nineteenth century where they were puzzling out where they stood. He pressed his face against England’s skin. He could remember well his own feelings of trying to puzzle England out. Were they friends? Enemies? Lovers? All three at once? To so many of his people, England was a part of the past. The evil red coats that tried to rob him of his liberty and not let him be free. The proud, old country that hadn’t known when to call it quits until he was on his knees in the mud.

America opened his eyes and leaned up to look at England’s face. He tried to trace the lines that had changed there in the... he had to pause to count. It had been one hundred and fifty-eight years about since that day in the mud and rain when England had surrendered. To when his independence was no longer in question. England hadn’t changed much, maybe gained a year or two in his human appearance. He was thin now as he’d been then. “I need you to wake up,” America said. “Please, Arthur. It didn’t end us back then and this can’t either. That’s not our story.”

He didn’t realize it was dawn until Canada had returned to throw open the curtains to the hazy dawn light marred by the smoke from the bombings. “Help me get him into his pajamas, okay?” Canada lay his hand on America’s shoulder, but he didn’t move. He just kept his eyes squeezed shut.

“Matt... I’m going back home. I need to get my people on board... maybe that will wake him up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hope you are enjoying the story and this long chapter! We are working on edits to some of our written chapters and will be brining you more soon! As always, thank you for reading and please leave us a comment or a kudo!


	7. The Calendar Pages Turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even with England unconscious there is still work to do and decisions to be made. America is muddling through the gray area between war and neutrality making more than a few enemies along the way.

_January 1941_

_Washington D.C._

“It’s very modern, aru.” China squinted at the television set in America’s living room. The screen was a hands-width across and currently dark.

“You could turn it on.” When China made no move to turn the knob, America walked over and soon it was powered to life. There were quite a few interested minutes while America was able to gather the rest of lunch while China looked the device all over. “Don’t pick it up, you’ll crack a tube.”

“And you are selling these now?”

“It’s not totally ready. There’s only one channel so far. I have a good feeling about it.”

“And about the P-40s?” China turned to look at him. That was why he had come. He’d requested planes to supply his air force and the American pilots that were training with them. China had been at war with Japan for years now, battle after battle. America’s people had even gotten caught in the crossfire at Nanking, one of his diplomats even getting punched in the face by a Japanese soldier. Japan had apologized, but still... there were too many warring nations pretending like they couldn’t see his flag on things. China came to the table where food had been laid out. “What is this supposed to be?”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t be helping you if I wasn’t on your side. And don’t you recognize it? I ordered it from the Chinese restaurant.”

China sighed. “And they have been living with you for too long. Take me to a diner. I want to see one.”

“If you don’t mind people staring.”

“Why would they stare?”

“Because the last time we went out you decided to eat a french fry with chopsticks.”

“I have learned what I need to know.”

“Okay, let me toss this in the fridge and we’ll go.” China followed him into the kitchen and poked around with a number of his new appliances. After nearly a quarter of an hour, they both got into the car and headed away to find a place to eat near the National Mall. The cherry blossom trees around the lane were bare branched in the winter sunlight, as everyone hurried from building to building with scarves around their faces.

“What do you think of him now?”

America was silent for a moment, sure he knew who China was talking about. “Kiku?”

“Yes, my traitorous little brother. He is so different now.”

“It’s like he’s not even the same guy I met all those years ago. The guy who gave me these.” America looked at the trees. They had been a present of friendship. He always liked the looks of them when they turned pink in the spring. He’d heard some people mutter about cutting them down when the arguments with Japan looked like they’d find no solution. “Hopefully, he’ll stop.”

“You don’t know him very well then.”

America looked across the car at China, expecting him to say more, but the ancient nation just looked out the car window until they arrived at the small diner. Men in suits were at many of the tables, although the lunch hour was quickly coming to a close. Pushing the cloud of the war away, they ordered as much food as they wanted, the waitresses clearly amused as they brought tray after tray to the two young men. They were searching the dessert menu when China glanced up, his face paling at something that he saw. A Chinese word that he’d never heard slipped between his lips as the menu was suddenly thrust up to cover his face.

“Yao?” America asked, before turning around to look for what he’d seen. He tried to hide the surprise that flashed through him at the sight of Japan coming in the door with a few of his diplomats, their crisp black suits not making anyone turn heads, after all, there were plenty of dignitaries in D.C. His eyes were firmly on America. America stood up and walked over to him, trying to give China the space to leave if he wanted. “Kiku. I didn’t know you were coming so soon. I thought you were meeting me at the embassy in California.”

“I decided to come to where you were. Interesting that I find Yao here as well.” He looked past America’s shoulder, eyes fixed on the table. “It appears a deal might not be possible once again.”

America frowned. “Do you really want to talk about this here?”

“I wanted to eat lunch.”

“Then do it. I was just finishing.”

“Perhaps I could join you.” He stepped around America and was in the booth next to China before the other had finished sliding out of the vinyl seat. “Both of you.”

If he told Japan to get out of the seat, it would cause an incident, something they all knew. America flexed his hands and then dropped back onto his side with a smile that he didn’t feel. “We were ordering dessert. Or do you want a sandwich first?”

The conversation was carefully not about the Sino-Japanese War even though it was beneath every careful movement on the other side of the table. America couldn’t even enjoy his sundae with the tension across from him. What did Japan even want? Why wouldn’t he have just waited for when they were meeting officially. America pushed away his half-eaten dessert. “What do you want, Kiku? And it’s not to eat lunch. You came looking for me because you knew Yao was here.”

Japan was quiet for a moment. “It’s always a shame you aren’t as stupid as Ludwig thinks you are.”

“Being an ass to me isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

“And supplying material to my enemy is not going to get you what you want either.”

“Alfred and I have a prior agreement from before you invaded me,” China hissed.

“If my boss puts through the embargo, that’s gonna be on you, Kiku. We told you our terms.”

“And we told you they were unacceptable.”

America crossed his arms and sighed. “Then we’re at an impasse. And frankly, I have bigger things to worry about than you being annoyed that I have more control over oil distribution in the Pacific than you.”

Japan gave him a cold stare. “You don’t think Arthur is reaping what he sowed?”

America paused, taken aback by the sudden change in topic. He frowned. “Don’t talk to me about Arthur while you eye his lands. And mine.”

“There are other nations there already are there not?”

“Yeah, and you’re planning on ‘liberating’ them, huh? You would liberate them the same way Ludwig is ‘freeing’ Europe, North Africa, and the Middle East.” America looked at China and the older nation shook his head. “What do you want, Kiku?”

“To know where you stand.”

“I don’t think I’ve made that vague. Especially not since you decided to officially throw your hat in with Ludwig and Feliciano.” Japan tilted his head to the side, as if he could somehow see through America’s words to what he really wanted to say. There was plenty, but his boss had told him to remember diplomacy. If he wanted to help England, starting a fight with Japan wasn’t going to do it. “We’re still willing to be friends if you are.”

Japan reached over to put his spoon in the untouched end of America’s sundae, scooping the food up and putting it on his own plate. America watched him do it. _I can take what you have._

“Lunch is on me. Let’s go, Yao.” America got up and Japan watched him, slowly moving out of his seat to allow the Chinese nation to come as well. “We’ll talk tomorrow at the _official_ meeting.”

“ _Ja mata,_ Alfred.” Japan’s face didn’t change even for an instant.

America waved at him, hoping the gesture didn’t look too stiff. He wasn’t looking forward to that meeting tomorrow, especially if interrupting lunch was an opening volley. Japan was going to argue with him tomorrow. He was going to have to stand his ground. Soon enough, they were in the car again and heading back to America’s house. He wanted to throw things. “What did he mean about Arthur?”

 _He’s just lying unconscious in the same bed he fell asleep next to me in. There’s been no sign that he will wake up. I can’t do anything about it because Congress won’t declare war and my boss is being cautious. I want to burn the whole world down when I think about it._ “Don’t worry about it.”

“That does not make me feel better.”

“No, me neither. Do you drink, Yao?”

“For longer than you were a vague thought in Europe’s collective consciousness.”

“Then we’re drinking when we get to my place. Deal?”

“Yes, I could use a drink.”

***

_February 5, 1941_

_London, England_

“No wonder my wee brother is so pissed all of the time, this is like managing a herd of cats.” Scotland stared at the papers sprawled across the bed as he rocked the chair onto its back two legs. His green eyes flicked to England’s prone form on the bed. Not a muscle twitch. His brother had been in what the doctors were calling ‘a trauma-induced coma’. Scotland’s fingers found the earring in his right ear, worrying it between his pointer and thumb pad. Iron, of course, to warn off the fae. Although judging by the several fae that crowded the room along the edges, and the few that sat bravely on England’s bed, it wasn’t doing much. They had been among the Kirkland brothers for so long they knew that they were safe from the burning touch of the stuff. An outright war would break out between them once again. The last thing he needed was a massive war to break out between the fae courts while the humans were also fighting. Dropping the chair back on all fours as there was a knock at the door Scotland groaned. “It’s unlocked!” he bellowed, fishing for a smoke in his pockets.

The door opened slowly, soundlessly, and Canada slipped into the room in a similar manner. “Good morning, Alistair,” Canada whispered, peering at the early rays of sunlight struggling in through the window.

“Ah, Matthew, you’re here early.” He gestured to his little brother. “Usually I take the morning shifts with Arthur.”

“Well, yes, but I was looking for documents and figured that you might have them here with you.” Violet’s eyes flicked over the mess on the bed and he stepped over and around the many fae about. “It’s busy here today.”

“Was like this when I showed up.” He gestured to the paperwork. “I guess you are looking for the paperwork on the Air Training Corps that is starting today. It’s near Arthur’s right hand. Do you have matches, I forgot mine. Oh wait, nah.”

“I do.” Canada pulled out a pack and leaned over the bed to hand it to the redhead.

“Really now?” Scotland arched a brow, striking a match as Canada pulled a chair up to the opposite side of the bed and took the pack back only to pull a smokes case from his own pocket. “Now when did that start?”

“A couple of years ago. Don’t say anything.” Sticking one between his own lips and striking a match, Canada shot an apologetic glance at the fae who grumbled with disgust and began filing out of the room to escape the toxins.

“Arthur doesn’t know?”

“He does, so does Francis. It’s Alfred who doesn’t know and I am afraid that he will lose it when he finds out. He is always ragging on Arthur for it.”

“So you want to make sure that Arthur is there when he finds out so that he can be a buffer?” Scotland snorted as the shorter blonde shot him a rueful smile.

“I s’pose.” Canada picked up a document with bold lettering on the top.

“So ol’ King George has agreed to be the Air Commander in Chief for this Air Training Corps, huh? If we are prepping the young ones for fighting in the Royal Air Force then things are getting serious.” Scotland’s eyes flicked to England on the bed. “Well, seriousness continuing I guess.”

“I am meeting with Sir John Chamier this morning before going with the King to the official signing.”

“Old John?” This piqued Scotland’s interest. “He is said to be the Father of the Air Training Corps. I haven’t seen him in years. Mind if I come with?”

“Come along, please. I’ve never met him so a familiar face would do us good… does he know about us?” Canada tapped his burning end in the tray on England’s bedside, a wistful glance stealing over his features for a moment. “Otherwise how will you explain your lack of aging?”

“Yes. He does know. England flew with him multiple times in the last war and survived some things a human man shouldn’t so it became important for him to have the knowledge.”

“Good.” Canada leaned back in his chair, dragging his hands through his hair. “We will have to head out soon.”

“Yeah yeah. Bit o ‘ scotch first?” He gestured towards the pull cord.

“Sounds wonderful, yes, please.”

***

_March 14, 1941_

_London, England_

America leaned on the railing of the ship as they traveled up the Thames. It had taken layers and layers of checks to get them into the city that smoked here and there from the bombings the night before. America watched, trying to hold onto a small shred of hope that things had changed. That he wasn’t going to walk into that room and still see England still and unmoving. Lend-lease had been approved. It wasn’t only going to change things for England, but all of the Allies. They could now buy goods on loan. Food, weapons, machines... they would be coming over soon. Churchill’s request had sent waves through him. _Give us the tools and we will finish the job._ It was official now, things could change. He cradled the hope, wanting it to really be different. _Please, Arthur, be awake._

When he saw Canada standing on the docks, his heart sank. His brother had his hands shoved in his pockets, the collar turned up against the cold in the air. His face was tired, and he looked worried. He didn’t raise a hand in greeting, just met America’s eyes. “He hasn’t woken up has he?” America asked, knowing the answer before Canada shook his head.

“No, he was still asleep as of this morning.”

Pushing his hands in his own pockets, America followed Canada through the activity near the river. He looked up at the anti-aircraft guns that he’d heard booming so many nights. The machines showed their usage plainly. They were streaked black with gunpowder. Everyone looked tired, but still went about their business. They were walking inside the palace before America found more words. “No change at all?”

This time, Canada said nothing. He just shook his head. They passed other nations as they walked through the halls to England’s room. They threw glances his way and he felt each and every one of them. He was being watched. Judged. He felt it in every stare that lingered too long. They wanted to know why he wasn’t there. He knew it in his heart and it was something he was wondering too.

England’s room was empty when they entered, the bags of fluids hanging beside the bed and a monitor beeping rhythmically. It was a sound he still wasn’t quite used to and he could feel his pulse quicken as he braced himself to look at England’s face.

From a distance, he looked like he could be sleeping, but America had seen his sleeping face enough times that it wasn’t him behind those closed eyes. Even in sleep, little emotions would flick over England’s face, especially when he curled in his arms and muttered nonsense against his skin. He sat down on the edge of the bed. “You don’t have to stay, Matt.”

“You know I can’t just leave. They don’t trust you.”

“Tell Arthur’s brothers to go fuck themselves, they’ve known me my whole life.”

“You know that is not a good idea. And frankly, Alfred, you need to not antagonize anyone right now. Arthur wouldn’t forgive you.”

“Just, I need a moment with him, Matt.” Without waiting for Canada’s response, America climbed up on the bed next to England, laying an arm over his middle. He could hear Canada’s footsteps. He wasn’t going to go far, probably just outside of the door. He pressed his face against England’s chest, feeling the way his breath rose and fell. That brought him comfort, even though England’s smell did not. He smelled like clean sheets and soap. No sweat, no cologne, not even the stink of cigarette smoke as they lay together. Antiseptic. America closed his eyes, as if he could will him back into consciousness.

“Francis...?” Canada said, his voice sounding from the hallway, his French words only coming through in pieces in America’s mind. _What are you doing... room._ America lifted his head up. He must have drifted off with the time change, the clock now read two hours later, mid-afternoon.

France’s response was so quick that America could only catch two words. _Help. Don’t._ America sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed as Canada responded. French had never come easily to him and he couldn’t follow the rapid fire conversation. He could, however, hear the distress in Canada’s voice. The meanness in France’s. He walked across the room and pulled open the door.

“What the hell’s going on?” They both looked at him. Canada had his arm outstretched, as though he’d been offering France to take it. The older nation looked a wreck, shocking America with his appearance. France’s hair was tangled, his clothes plain where every other time America had seen him he’d been in his military uniform. His arms were wrapped around himself and expressions darted across his face. He looked edgy in a way that America hadn’t seen since brief interactions during the Reign of Terror after the French Revolution.

“Alfred, I’ve got this. Go back to, Arthur. Francis is going back to his room.” France’s expression darkened and America was moving before he could think, getting in between them. France slammed into him, surprising him with the force. Canada jumped back, his eyes wide with worry. More French slipped through his lips. America could catch ... _not you._

The litany of words that came from France’s mouth were bitter and America didn’t understand them. He looked over his shoulder to Canada and could see his face. Tears were flooding his eyes and the words he tried to speak back were lost in another slew of France’s vitriol. America grabbed France by the shoulders. “What is going on?”

“It’s nothing...” Canada muttered, his voice shaking.

“It can’t be nothing if he’s making you cry. What the fuck is wrong with you, Francis?” For the first time, France’s eyes met America’s. He didn’t look right, his eyes glassy.

“This does not concern you, _Amerique._ You are not my enemy.”

“And Matt is?”

“He is part of the British Empire.”

“France and the British Empire aren’t at war,” America insisted, keeping a grip on France as he threw a murderous glance at Canada.

“Alfred...” Canada said, his voice breaking.

“But Vichy is...” America turned back to France, whose face wavered. “That’s not who you are.”

“Don’t you dare presume...”

“No, you’re not a puppet. We’ve been through a lot Francis and while you drive me up the wall sometimes... that’s not who you are. You’re gonna get through this... you’re gonna get your land back. I promise.” France watched him as he spoke, the anger breaking into despair.

“How can you promise that? It’s not even your war.”

“Because Matt isn’t gonna let you stay occupied. And I’m gonna help him.” He heard Canada’s intake of breath behind him. “So, let’s get you to your room. You can rest.” America kept his grip on him as France’s face fell.

“ _Mon dieu, Mathieu,_ _Je suis désolé..._ ”

“ _Ne vous en faites pas._..” His voice was so quiet America wasn’t even sure if he heard him.

“Matt, I’ll take Francis back will you stay with Arthur?” Canada didn’t even answer, his footsteps just sounding on the floor as he disappeared into England’s room with a slam of the door. “C’mon, Francis.”

Tears fell silently down France’s cheeks as they walked back to his quarters. America watched him out of the corner of his eye. He’d never seen France broken before. In pain, yes, but not like this. National pain and personal pain. Never both at once. “Matt will be okay.”

“ _Non,_ I’ve said so many things to him when I’m not myself. When I can hear the words of others in the back of my mind. The words of those that would see him conquered too.”

“But you love him.”

“And you love Arthur, but here we are. Not standing by them because we can’t.”

America felt tears build in his own eyes. “They know that we’re trying. You can’t help that you were conquered... and I can’t help that my hands are tied. We’re trying.”

“Sometimes trying isn’t enough,” France said as they reached his door. He opened it. “Find someone to lock me in.”

“What?”

“Just do it, please.” France went inside, closing the door behind him. America found a pull in the hall and made the request, the staff that answered not looking surprised at all. The lock clicked into place and America walked back to England’s room with a knot in his stomach. He found Canada sitting on the floor next to England’s bed, the beeping of the monitor out of time with the shaking of his shoulders. His arms were wrapped around his knees, face pressed against them.

“Matt...” America said, sitting down next to him.

“I keep telling myself he doesn’t mean it...”

“I don’t think he does. He’s not himself.”

“Did you understand what he said to me?” Canada lifted his head, swiping a hand across one cheek before pulling off his glasses to wipe the tears off the lenses. America shook his head.

“It sounded pretty harsh.”

“That’s putting it mildly.” Canada shook his head, scoffing. “I can’t fall apart like this.”

“You love him and he’s...”

“Suffering! Conquered! I couldn’t stop it and I can’t save him!” Canada curled in on himself once again, hiding his face in his folded arms. America put his hand on his arm. “Don’t touch me!”

“Matt!”

“Go away before I say something I’m going to regret.”

“Matt...”

“Go, Alfred. I don’t want to see you right now. And I’m in charge of Arthur right now so get the hell out.” His voice was cold and America found himself getting to his feet, anger and hurt chasing each other through his body.

“I’m going to...”

“Stop making promises. You aren’t keeping them!” Canada’s shoulders were shaking and America turned on his heel before he burst into tears too. He felt the accusations piling on his shoulders. France’s words ringing in his ears and Canada’s tears haunting his thoughts.

_Sometimes trying isn’t enough._

*** ****

**_March 16, 1941_ **

**_Telegram London, England to Washington D.C USA_ ** ****

**_Captain Jones,_ ** ****

**_A bombing on Plymouth last night._ **

**_336 people died._ **

**_Arthur is fine, still asleep._ ** ****

**_Love, Lieutenant-General Williams_ **

***

**_April 16, 1941_ ** ****

**_Telegram from London England to Washington D.C. USA_ ** ****

**_Captain Jones,_ ** ****

**_Belfast was heavily bombed last night._ **

**_Killed900 and injured 1,500_ **

**_No change in Arthur._ ** ****

**_Love, Lieutenant_ - _General Williams_**

***

**_April 19, 1941_ ** ****

**_Telegram from London, England to Washington D.C._ ** ****

**_Captain Jones,_ **

**_Last night heaviest air raid yet_ **

**_Arthur had a fit but stayed unconscious_ **

**_No changes since_ **

**_The physician said no further damage_ **

**_Love,Lieutenant_ - _General Williams_**

***

_May 24, 1941_

_Berlin, Nazi Germany_

America frowned at the red flag on the wall of the room he’d been told to wait in. The red flag with the white circle and the black symbol that had spread across Europe. _Fascists. Nazis._ He sat in the chair and tapped his fountain pen on the table. It would probably spit ink all over the table when he opened it, but he didn’t care. Germany could pay to have the carpets cleaned. This wasn’t a social call.

He could hear voices in the hallway, recognizing both. It was Germany and Italy, their voices so low that he couldn’t quite make it out through the doorway. Before he’d come he’d asked for any information that was had on what was going on behind closed doors. The other nations had said plenty. There was plenty of rumors about what exactly was going on between Germany and Italy personally. He’d tried to call Romano, but the other Italian had hung up before he’d said more than that he was calling.

The door opened as the clock ticked to the exact minute of the meeting time. “Alfred,” Germany said as he walked into the room. He offered America a hand, but when he didn’t take it he took his seat. Italy stood in the doorway, still looking as cheerful as America had last seen him. Hard to believe he was complicit in all of it. As America stared at him, Italy ducked back into the hallway with an excuse, the door closing behind him. Germany was silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“The _SS Robin Moor._ That was _my_ ship, Ludwig.”

“And as you read in the official response, we take no responsibility for the loss of your merchant ship.”

“And we both know that’s bullshit.”

“There is no need for profanity.”

“You attack neutral vessels and you’re telling me there’s no need for profanity? Your U-boat captain left _my_ people adrift in lifeboats in the middle of the Atlantic! I know you ordered it, so stop trying to sweet talk me.”

Germany looked at him, his face unreadable. He clenched his fist on the table and America could see it shake. A sheen of sweat shone on his brow. What was wrong with him? “All right. Yes, I ordered it.”

“I could declare war on you for this.”

Scoffing, Germany leaned back in his chair. “We both know you won’t.”

“You don’t think I give a shit about people messing with my shipping? I even fought Arthur over that.”

Germany laughed and America stared. He didn’t recall ever hearing the reserved nation laugh. It was a mocking chuckle that sounded completely foreign. As if the laughter belonged to someone else. “If we are talking of things we both know, we know that you were never afraid of Arthur truly destroying you. He might have conquered you, but never would he have snuffed you out. You’re too valuable to him.”

“You think I’m scared of you?”

That laughter subsided, Germany’s expression turning on a dime. “Only idiots aren’t scared of me.”

“Then call me an idiot.” America grit his teeth. “And keep your damn hands off my ships. My boss said it perfectly, we are not yielding and we do not propose to yield.”

“Yet, you do nothing, even as Arthur is on the verge of surrender. You can pretend you were hauling consumer goods all you want. There was plenty that could have been war materials on that boat and it was headed to the Commonwealth.”

“Then declare war on me. Call me out. See how that plays out for you and your allies.” America leaned on the table. “You left a bunch of people adrift in the open ocean. We used to be friends.”

“Then you sided with Arthur time and again. I’ve had that. Not worth it.”

The chair toppled as America stood up. “That is none of your damn business and has nothing to do with the fact that you’re out there sinking my ships like a snake in the grass.”

Germany stood up, laying his hands on the table. “It has everything to do with the matter at hand. You need to stop meddling in _my_ business with the British Empire.”

“You can’t fucking tell me what to do.” America furrowed his brow, examining Germany’s face. It was his turn to scoff. “You won’t admit to it because you’re afraid of me. You don’t want me over here because you know I’ll break your winning streak.”

A twitch. “This meeting is over. I will take your request under consideration.”

“It’s not a damn request.” America stepped away from the table. He was nearly out the door and back to his ambassador when Germany spoke.

“Tell Arthur I look forward to seeing his face when he gets my next volley. That is, if he could make any expressions. I hear that he’s been unconscious for months.” America whirled, moving across the room. A door opened and someone threw himself into the path between him and Germany.

“Please don’t be mad at Ludwig, he’s very tired.” Italy looked up at him, his hands outstretched and a terrified expression on his face. America looked at the tinier nation for a moment, Germany muttering something to him in German. Italy’s expression softened a little, but he didn’t move out from between them.

“What are you doing, idiot?” A voice hissed from the doorway. America could see Romano now, marching forward to try and grab his brother’s arm. He didn’t look at America even when he tried to catch his eyes. “The meeting is over. They’re done. Don’t put yourself in between.” He yanked, but Italy held fast.

“No, Ludwig is just tired. He didn’t mean to say mean things to Alfred! _Mi dispiace._ ”

“Don’t be sorry. Get out of the way,” Romano hissed. “No need to get smashed between them.”

“I’m going,” America said. “I don’t know why I bothered to try to talk with someone who has clearly lost his mind.”

“ _Das wird dir Leid tun,”_ Germany threw after him as he left the room.

“We’ll see who’s sorry in the end,” America threw back. He turned one last time and caught Romano’s expression. _Help._

Walking back out of the room, he paused when he saw Prussia standing in the hallway. He was shaking his head, but America didn’t know if it was him or his brother. He didn’t say a word as he walked by and into the room, closing the door behind him.

_This isn’t over. Not by a long shot. Arthur, you gotta hold on. You can’t let him win while you’re waiting for me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year and thank you for reading! We hope you enjoyed this chapter! Next chapter: America returns to England to find a welcome surprise.
> 
> If you are enjoying our story please leave a comment or a kudo! We love getting your feedback!


	8. Come Back to Me, Love Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America returns with the first large shipments of goods from the settlement of the Lend-Lease agreement, what he finds surprises him.

_June 20, 1941_

_London, England_

America stepped out of the car, pulling his hat from his head. He had come to the palace first, to see about England. Then he would go to the embassy and, likely, to Mr. Churchill’s office. He wasn’t going to like the message he carried. Things weren’t progressing as quickly as everyone had hoped. America walked up the stairs and walked into someone.

“Sorry,” he muttered. He looked up to see his brother. “Matt? What’s going on?”

"You're here." Canada stared at him. Shock, panic, and delight flashed by, a myriad of masks on his face.

“The first food shipments of lend-lease are coming and I wanted to make sure everything worked... has something happened to Arthur?” His stomach dropped and he pushed past Canada, rushing towards England’s rooms.

"Alfred, wait come back!" Canada threw up his hand and America felt like he’d walked into a wall. The shock of it knocked him down. "Oops... sorry." Canada walked over and grabbed him by the elbow.

America put a hand to his nose, but it wasn’t bleeding. Thin air didn’t hurt that much. “What?”

"Follow me hurry." He gestured to his brother and took off down the steps. The violet-eyed man led his twin through a door behind the curtain, down a narrow passageway and out of a door that led to the grounds near England's private rose gardens. "Go. Look. The roses are in bloom."

America stepped out into the gray weather. “Why are you dragging me out here to see...” He stopped. There was someone sitting on the bench, propped up on pillows and wrapped in a blanket. His yellow hair stuck up over the edge of the dark fabric. America took a few steps forward, almost afraid to hope. “Arthur?”

"Alfred. You finally got here. Stop in town for a drink or something?" Arthur looked up from a book in his lap. With a soft smile at the American nation, he gently placed a bookmark between the open pages before shutting it slowly. "Well then, that certainly changes the plans for the afternoon." His head tilted. "The jacket. It’s new."

“You can see me.” America’s mouth stretched into a smile. “When did you wake up and why the hell didn’t anyone call me?” He came forward, running toward him. He fell to his knees beside England and pulled him into a hug.

"Alfred, my book," England protested, wriggling it out from between them before returning the embrace full-heartedly. "I awoke just a week ago."

“A fucking week?” America’s hands went to his cheeks and he pulled him into a kiss. He couldn’t focus on anything but the pure joy that England was awake and had his sight back. England hummed against his mouth, sinking into it with delight, nimble fingers wrapping around America’s wrists as he turned his head to deepen the kiss.

“You should have called me, I would have been here as fast as I could,” he whispered, forehead pressed against England’s.

"We all wanted to make sure it wasn't a fluke... Matthew told me how hard you took it... he didn't want to see what you would do if it happened again. He told me what he could about what I missed." England drew a finger down his face. “I wanted to see you again.”

“I was worried I would never...” He kissed England again, reveling in the feel of him awake and alive.England's fingers twisted into his hair, pulling the other flush against him. He sighed his name against his mouth before kissing him back hard. Pulling away, England left small kisses on the corners of his mouth, his cheeks, the tip of his nose, all the while murmuring his name.

“Do you know what's going on?” America said between his own soft kisses. “The war...” England’s mouth landed on his own again and America let him steal the words.

"I don’t care," he breathed.

“You don’t?” America pulled back slightly, searching England’s face.

"About the war at this very moment? No, I don't." England shook his head.

America kissed the corner of England’s mouth. “Good.” He didn’t want to sully the moment with the tangled mess that their politics were becoming. Or the bad news about the losses. His hands moved to England’s shoulders, his fingers catching in the fabric of his clothes.

"Alfred... someone will be coming soon."

“I’ll tell them to fuck off.” America’s hands went back to England’s cheeks, fingers brushing over the curves of his face.

"To bring me to supper. They will have my chair."

“A chair?” America said.

"My wheelchair."

“You can’t walk?” America’s leaned back, one hand resting on England’s thigh through the blanket.

"I can, but I can't make it far before I'm exhausted." England shook his head.

“You’ll be strong again in no time.” America offered him a smile.

"We shall see won't we," he said quietly. America pressed his ear against England’s chest, listening to his heart. It quickened with the close press of his body.

“I’ll make you strong again if you can’t manage it on your own.”

"What you’re a mage now or something?" England snorted.

“It’s not gonna take magic.” He took a deep breath. “You’re really here.”

"I never left Alfred."

“I really thought I lost you...” The emotion caught him off guard and he pressed his face against England’s shirt again. “Don’t ever do that again.”

"Alfred... that's a promise I can't make..." England laid his hand atop his hair gently. "If Ludwig were to start it all again... who knows."

“He’s playing chicken with me right now. He’s going to make a mistake and crash into me and then the game will change. If the Commie can keep him distracted long enough...” America grit his teeth. “You didn’t want to talk about the war.”

"I don't," England murmured before admitting with a sideways glance, "I only want your attention on me."

“Done,” America said, leaning up and pressing his mouth to his again. “How hungry are you?”

"Ravenous to be honest. I've been eating whatever I can get my hands on," he admitted in embarrassment, wringing his hands. “I lost just under a stone during my coma and the Royal family have all been fluttering about me like I’m going to sneeze and float away.”

“Then let’s get you that supper and then I’m all yours.”

"Sounds divine." The words were hardly out of his mouth when the crunch of gravel let them know they were not alone. Ronald appeared, pushing the wheelchair. America offered England his hands to help him into the chair. England seated, America took hold of it before the servant could.

He leaned down close to England’s ear. “Just in case someone is thinking I’m going to take supper somewhere else.”

"No, because we are dining with all the other visiting nations tonight, love." England looked up into the disappointed expression on America's face. "Sorry, love. If I had known you were coming then I would have rescheduled."

“If someone had called me, I would have known that I was coming to dinner. I didn’t bring anything... and they’ve been...” His jaw tightened and he continued to push England’s chair. “I’ll take you to your room.”

England's head dropped back to stare up at him. "They thought what they were doing was best," he defended them softly.

Anger flashed through America and he looked away. They had all tried to keep him from the room. Excluding him, all the while with their hands outstretched for help. He’d been doing what he could, but it never seemed like enough. “And I’m doing my best with what I’ve got right now.” He looked down at England. “Here you are and... I just want to be here. With you.” He reached for England’s shoulder, his fingers a warm weight.

***

England looked up at him. "And you’re going to stay here... at least for a while." The corner of his eyes crinkled slightly as he smiled. His demeanor was quiet and appropriate, which was the last thing he wanted to be. He had his sight back and had been awake for a week. His impatience at waiting for the American nation to show had manifested in a short temper and angry tears more than once. He couldn't wait to have the privacy offered by closed doors.

“As long as I can. I hope you aren’t above throwing your weight around.” America offered him a lopsided smile. He looked a little pale like he hadn’t been sleeping. 

"That depends on what for?"

“Like not letting anyone come between us tonight. I might break someone’s nose.” He looked away again, brow furrowing at someone who looked like they might be walking towards them. “Did anyone tell you what’s happened since you fell asleep?”

"Of course." England nodded leaning back in the chair, fingers drumming.

“What did they say?” America asked, his voice was low so only England could hear. It was amazing how in some situations the American could never be quiet, and in others act in surprising ways.

"Many things." England sighed.

“Such as?” America asked.

If there is something in specific that you want Alfred then just come out and fucking say it!" England snapped. "I just woke up and got my eyesight back and you’re finally here and here you are trying to play fucking games! I'm not having it! If you want to act like this then you can leave and come back later." His fists hit his armrests.

Their forward momentum stopped. “I don’t want to fight with you. Damn it.” His voice cracked a little at the end. “Can they give us a few minutes at least?”

"We are going to my rooms are we not?" England looked back at him.

America’s cheeks were flushed, his emotions bared in his blue eyes. He nodded and began to push England forward again. “Did they at least tell you I came whenever I could?”

"Yes, Matthew did." England nodded.

“Good,” America said. He knew the way by heart and soon the door was closing between them and the rest of the world. America leaned over the back of the chair and wrapped his arms around him, pressing his face against England’s neck. He pulled back just enough to pull off his glasses and then was holding England again.

"You are okay, Alfred," England murmured stroking his hair.

“When I kept hearing the news about the retreats and you still weren’t waking up...”

"I'm the British Empire. I will always be fine," England soothed.

“This is...” He lifted his head, stepping back to swipe a hand across his eyes. “I...” He shook his head. “I can’t believe you’re back...” He knelt down on the side of England’s chair. He looked up at him, hand reaching out to brush against England’s cheek.

Leaning into the touch England smiled softly. "I'm sorry, love."

“Don’t be sorry.” America leaned up, pressing his forehead against England’s. “Just... let me know this isn’t a dream.”

"Well, considering we are both dressed, there is no sweets or a smoke in my hand then I can say it's not a dream." He chuckled.

America burst into a laugh. “And you can’t let me be romantic for just a second.” He brushed England’s hair through his fingers. “As to the rest... you only have to ask.”

"I was being romantic!" England huffed.

“We’re getting there.” America hooked his fingers behind England’s head, pressing forward for a kiss.

"Oh now you want a kiss." England's fake pout was pathetic and he knew it. His eyes fluttered shut allowing the taller man to press a kiss onto his mouth with a soft sigh of delight. "Alfred..."

The sound of his name sparked something in America, his other hand coming to England’s cheek to hold their faces close as he pressed for more. It was only the arm of the chair that prevented his body from pressing against England’s.

England's long fingers found purchase in Americas hair with a noise of approval escaping his throat. They were not close enough. He tugged at the wheat colored locks the soft sigh of America's name gone. Replaced with a demanding one. "Alfred."

It took a moment of maneuvering, but America soon had one arm beneath his knees, lifting him out of the chair. Holding him to his chest, he made it halfway to the door to England’s bedroom before they could hear knocking. A frustrated sound escaped America’s throat.

"Fucking ignore it," England ordered, pulling America into another kiss.

He kept going, dropping England onto the blankets and climbing up himself. “If they come in here I...” He was silenced as England pulled him back down.

"Then you ignore them," England hissed. "I don't care how deep your cock is in me. Not now." He pulled America down into another kiss, fingers fisting in his hair.

America responded, taking control of the kiss, yanking England’s shirt out of his trousers, sliding a hand against the skin of his back. His mouth left England’s, lips finding his throat. He hoisted England’s hips up to press against his own. The knocking grew more insistent.

"Arthur, Alfred!" France's voice came from the door of the parlor. "I'll give you 30 seconds to get decent or I shall come in and join."

“Damn...” America growled against England’s neck. “Francis, you come in here and I’ll...”

The door flew open, France clearly unconcerned about witnessing anything they may have been doing. “That’s big talk coming from the nation that repeatedly abandons his lover.” France’s gaze was hard as he tossed America’s glasses onto the bed. “To think, it wasn’t even two hundred years ago when you would get weak in the knees and nearly faint at the thought of this. And now it seems it’s all you care about.”

America’s face grew unreadable. He looked down at England for a moment and then helped him upright, letting England lean on his chest for support. “What do you want?” There was an edge to America’s voice as he pushed his glasses back onto his nose.

"To let you know that you’re expected at the evening meal. I was sent here to remind Arthur that he has previous obligations."

"Sod off Frog!!" England flipped him off and Francis snorted.

"You know _rosbif_ watching you make that gesture at me when I've seen you do it naked a million times isn't really threatening."

“His plans have changed.” America’s body was tense, England could feel it against his own. “You can tell them-”

“I _can_ do anything I like. You have no right to order anyone in this room about,” France said, eyes narrowing. “Tick, tock, Arthur.” France tapped at his wrist.

"I'll change and get ready when you stop drooling on my bed," England drawled propping his chin on his hand and he leaned forward. America looked at him, his brow still furrowed. He tightened the arm that he had around his waist.

“Get out, Francis. I’ll make sure he makes his dinner.” France opened his mouth to say something else, but the glare America shot him made him pause. He raised an eyebrow.

Huffing, he leaned against the door frame for a moment. “Interesting. And here everyone was wondering if you had any backbone at all as you hide across the Atlantic.”

The muscle of America’s jaw tightened. “It would be too easy to knock you down right now.”

"Out!" England snapped his patience thin and with a flick of his hand the door slammed shut in France's face. England's fingers found the bridge of his nose as his eyes watered. "Dammit, annoying."

“He’s pissed at me,” America muttered. He put a hand on England’s forehead. “Does your head hurt?”

"No, it’s fine." England brushed his hand away. "I guess we should dress."

“Yeah.” America pulled back, running a hand through his hair. An emptiness was evident on his face, but also some other emotion that lurked right below the surface. “Do you want me to call for your valet?”

"No, it’s fine." England shook his head.

“It’s really not.” He leaned his head against England’s shoulder.

"What do you mean?"England frowned stroking his hair.

“Because...” America sighed. “I need you and everyone outside that door has been trying to keep me away. Well, except Mr. Churchill. He’s rather keen on us.”

"Alfred I'm right here. We are going to supper together," England soothed.

“I guess you are. I’m with you, sweetheart.” He lifted his head, looking into England’s eyes. “As much as I can be.”

England smiled before smirking. "Were you not just chiding me for talks of getting you into my bed, yet here you are whining that you cannot immediately do so?"

“I didn’t bring anything to wear to dinner. I was just expecting to check on you and then get back to work.” He smiled at him. “Seeing you awake is so much better than what I had planned, even if I have to sit through dinner with the others wondering if they can burn holes in me with their stares.” He looked down. “Not that I blame them. Maybe if I’d done more... you wouldn’t have fallen asleep in the first place.”

"Enough with those thoughts!" England's voice was sharp, grabbing him by the chin. "What's done is done! That's it!"

America blinked, surprise evident in his eyes. His own fingers found the curve of England’s jaw. He slid his fingers up into his hair, gently tugging on the strands. “I... Okay.” He leaned forward to press a soft kiss to his mouth. “Do you need help getting ready?”

"Yes..." England nodded and leaned back to gesture at his wardrobe. Time passed quickly as dressing was interrupted with small kisses and murmurs of content. But they kept rather on time, no real discussion passing between them as they entered into the hall. Directing Alfred towards the small dining room he drummed his fingers lightly as they maneuvered through the halls. As they came around the last corner they saw Canada standing outside a look of mild impatience on his features. It shifted to guilt and he wouldn’t catch America’s eye. “Alfred, let Matthew guide me in.”

“Why?” America asked, making no move to step away.

"Because I can't have you do it," England admitted quietly. "There are other nations who will be dining with us, remember?"

“I guess that wouldn’t be a good look.” He looked over at Canada who still wasn’t looking at him. “I’ll see you in there, then?”

"Yes." Canada nodded. "It’s gonna be fine."

“Let’s just hope Francis doesn’t try to put a hand grenade under my chair.” America’s tone suggested that he was only half-joking. Canada stiffened.

“He wasn’t really going to do it... he wasn’t himself that day...” Canada said quietly.

“I know, Matt. Let’s just get this over with.” America shoved his hands in his pockets, letting Canada take England’s wheelchair.

Canada offered him another smile as he tapped the door and they opened instantly, strictly trained guards flanking each side. Several pairs of eyes trained on their small trio, conversation grinding to a halt. "Good evening." England's tone was welcoming but held a warning. "I hope you all are as excited as I to have a chance to participate in a warm, polite meal." His hands folded over his bent knees, starting at the right. There in order sat France, Norway, Poland, China, Australia, India, Wales, N. Ireland, Ireland, Scotland, New Zealand, Portugal, Seychelles, Egypt, Cape Hope.

"Francis, Lukas, Feliks, Yao, Jett, Neeraja, Dylan, Colleen, Seamus, Alistair, Zak, Vicente, Michelle, Gupta, Amahle.” England greeted each in turn. All allies except for Portugal who remained neutral, but pissed off at Spain, so here he sat.

Over the years, England had become intimately familiar with many of America’s smiles. Quite a few other nations just saw his propensity to smile as a sign he wasn’t intelligent or was just a fool. America often had an overabundance of that expression on his face, but it had layers. The one he wore as he offered a greeting was a salesman’s smile. One he would plant on his face when he was in situations he didn’t like, but was going to get what he could out of it. The cold stares on several faces didn’t warm in the slightest. The smile shifted to one slightly more genuine when Australia offered him a seat. He’d grown broader since the outbreak of the war, his formerly rangy teenage frame becoming a little more adult.

Allowing Canada to push him to the spot at the head the table England's hands smoothed out a wrinkle in the table cloth before gesturing for the footman to begin entering. He immediately turned to Cape Hope on his left and struck up a conversation.

***

Throughout the dinner, America kept glancing up the table towards England. He couldn’t stop watching him, the way he moved and talked. The small expressions on his face. It was something he’d done more times than he could count in the past when England had been gone. Only it had been different back then. He had known that England was out there _doing_ things, alive and, while not always well, surviving. Seeing him month after month laying there, not moving... he didn’t know if he could personally bear that sort of pain again.

“Alfred, do you think it’s gonna change?” Australia’s voice drew his gaze back from England’s pale face to the worried face of the other nation. New Zealand’s inquisitive gaze met America’s over Australia’s shoulder. They were both worried. There were other colonies throughout the Pacific, but they were Dominions. Big catches if they were to fall, if Japan made a move.

“I’ve been trying to get him to pull back. I’ve been helping Yao out with some planes and pilots. I don’t think Kiku knows about them yet. Technically, they’re part of the Chinese Air Force.”

“Like the Eagle Squadron,” Australia said.

“Yeah, like that. We’re calling them the Flying Tigers.” America took a deep breath. “I’m hoping things will stay cool on that side though... it would be nice to mop up this mess first.”

“Yeah, Arthur’s got us in North Africa. It makes me nervous about home.” Australia looked down at his plate, spearing up one of the meager offerings and stuffing it into his mouth. “What if we’re over here and something happens over there?”

“We don’t know if something will happen.”

“We _hope_ something won’t happen,” New Zealand said. He was smaller than Australia, even though he was a little older. He looked up at England. “I don’t think he’ll be able to protect us.” His voice was low.

“He’ll try.” America knew that much. He also knew that England couldn’t fight a war that big all on his own, no matter what he said.

“We know he’ll try... but what good does it do any of us if he breaks in the process?” Australia whispered, making sure only those two could hear him.

“One of them is gonna slip up. My people are just waiting for the go ahead... I’ll help. Even if it’s not official,” America whispered back. He looked up at the table. England looked tired, even if he was trying to keep up appearances.

"Arthur collapsed two days ago." India leaned around Australia to look at America, obviously eavesdropping. "He is stretched thin, no clue how long he is going to last, before he collapses for good this time."

America’s brow furrowed. “He just woke up and he isn’t trying to regain his strength?”

"And how do you suggest he do that?" India raised a brow "Take a step back from the war? Take a break? Pull his troops?" The nation’s tone took a sharp edge. "You speak from a place of privilege, _sahib._ "

“I’m not suggesting he take a fucking vacation.” America didn’t mean for his voice to take on such a hard edge. “I won’t let him fall.”

"There are only two neutral nations at this table and you are one of them, what do you think to do?"

“We all know that I’m not gonna be neutral forever.” America’s fist curled into the tablecloth. If only Germany would blink. Make a mistake that gave him a good excuse. “And for now, _I’m_ here for him and then I’m going to go back home and see what I can do to keep Kiku off everyone’s back and to prepare to fight the rest of them.”

India rolled his eyes. "Miracles have been known to happen."

“Yeah, I happened.” America looked back at England again, their eyes meeting across the table. England smiled at him softly before returning back to his conversation. India fell silent for a moment.

"What do you plan to be for him?"

“I’ll be whatever he needs right now.” America looked back down at his plate. “And I’m going to save everyone.” He said it mostly to himself.

India laughed into his napkin. "You must think you are very special."

“No. Just me.” America smiled as he looked at England again. He wasn’t sure how, but he was going to try.

"And who is that exactly?"

America turned to India, leaning forward at the table. “Alfred F. Jones. The United States of America.”

"Which is who?" India propped his chin in his hand with an air of boredom.

“We’re ourselves and everyone at once right? All of our people, but also us. That’s what Arthur used to say.”

"And?" India sniffed as if watching bad entertainment.

“And I’m a hero.”

"Really now? A Hero." India arched a brow. "There are hundreds of those.”

“I’m _the_ hero.”

"You say it was 'such' conviction." He lifted his glass.

“This hero is going to go and check on the host.” America pushed back from the table, drawing attention to himself.

"Alfred, supper isn't done." England looked up from his conversation, all the conversations stopping once again.

“And I don’t think any of us really want to sit through six courses.”

England's lips pursed, brow furrowing in a familiar way. He wasn't happy. "Please return to your seat."

“He’s right,” Australia said from his seat. “We’re tired. I wouldn’t mind dinner being cut short.” Australia looked down at his plate as England looked at him. England's lip curled for a moment before waving his hand.

"If any of you are tired please do feel free to retire to your rooms and call on the staff shall you need anything. Master Jones, you shall be shown to your guest chambers."

America caught Canada’s eyes, the first time his brother had really looked at him in a while. Worry was in his gaze, but also recognition for what he was trying to do. “Good night, Arthur.” Before he’d even left the room, there was a chorus of other good evenings.

England peered over the rim of his glass as several of the nations got up to follow the taller nation. His siblings, India and Poland stayed in their seats, eyes flicking between him and America’s back. England shook his head and simply gestured for his glass to be filled. In a time of war, there was little that he could control. But he could control his supper, at least tonight.

Scotland leaned back in his chair, chuckling. “It seems like the bairns are trying to tell you something.” He gestured for more wine as well.

“If they want to go to rest that is their choice, Alistair.” England shrugged.

Wales picked up his glass and eyed England over the top of it. “I think the message was pretty clear.”

“Unless our little brother has had his brain addled by his long sleep,” Ireland chimed in. His three elder brothers glanced at each other and England had a feeling they were suddenly planning something. They all looked worse for wear. He’d seen all of them at their worst, sometimes at his hands, but this time... everyone was holding their breath in this war. Their fates were tied with his.

“If you have something to say then just be out with it. Don’t start beating around the bush now,” England said sharply.

“There’s no point in this charade. If you keep falling down what does that mean for the rest of us? You haven’t even been able to haul yourself to your feet yet. And it’s far from over.” Scotland’s brow furrowed. “You wanted to be in charge. Fucking delegate. Go work your magic on that brat to get him to send more resources.” He gestured at the door America and the others had gone through.

England stared at him, a frown etching another furrow in his brow. “All I wanted to do was have a normal as possible supper and it had to turn into a statement?”

“While I can’t give the kid credit for much, at least he mixed up everyone trying to be too nice to you. It was getting wearing. Nothing is normal right now, Arthur.” Scotland took a deep breath. “You and I have been at war with each other or someone else for most of our existence. We never tried to pretend things were normal then. And all this civilized dinner nonsense is about two centuries old and you know how I feel about the eighteenth century.”

“Then you can head out too if you’d like Alistiar. I didn’t say that you had to stay.”

Scotland got up from his chair, tossing his napkin onto his plate. He walked past Ireland on his way out. “I don’t know why you expected him to get it this time,” the Irishman muttered, but stayed in his seat.

After the door slammed behind him, Wales sighed. “While he is being a boar about it... Alistair is worried about you. Don’t tell him that I told you, because he’d probably try to curse me.”

“We both know that he is awful at curses.” England snorted before his posture suffered in his chair. “I just don’t understand why this is such a hard thing. War is chaotic and everyone tries to find their comforts where they can. And why is it bad that I find my comfort in routine.” His mouth twisted in a grimace. “Apparently asking for a familiar meal before I have another fit is too much to ask.” He sighed and rubbed his temple. He was supposed to be in charge. He was the one who always got things done. The one who everyone relied on. There was no room for self-pity.

“I said he would try,” Wales said, giving him a small smile. He got up from his seat so he could move several places over. “We understand it... all of us left here are old enough to understand it.” He gestured to the few who remained at the table. “We’ve watched our people get conquered, have to take on new names even if only for a time or forever, while we don’t want it... the worst has happened to us. But not to some of them. The youngest ones. They haven’t had to grit their teeth as the ancient nations shoved their faces into the mud and sat on their thrones. To them, it must seem like the end of the world. There’s old bones in these battles, but war keeps changing.”

India nodded in agreement. “Things will not be the same when this is over.”

"Fancy words for those who've had their asses protected like again and again," Poland said tightly from across the table. "I think you are totally missing the point. This isn't some big show. It was dinner. Like only dinner." The glass in the Polish nation’s hand creaked in protest as he stared at them. "As someone who hasn’t been able to go home for a very long time, I am with Arthur on this. It was just something familiar. Everyone, all of you has something you've been clinging to since this started. Mine is my, like, hygiene routine. Let Arthur have his dinner. Who are you all to judge?"

“I’m not judging him. I’m saying that they don’t understand,” Wales said.

“I think they could bear more burden.” India moved up the table as well. The group closer together. “They were likely hoping that you would finish your dinner earlier, rather than being the host that is the last one to leave the table. Let’s eat. Without so many younger nations, it will probably be more pleasant until it’s conclusion.”

“Isn’t that totally right” Poland piped up and England rolled his eyes before sighing. He was annoyed that this had happened. But he would get past that. He was hurt that it had been America.

“Of course.” He waved for the footmen to return to their duties.

“I wasn’t expecting Alfred to be here,” Ireland said after several minutes.

“Neither did I,” England admitted, looking up from his plate. “Matthew said he has been showing up as often as possible. The timing is slightly uncanny/”

India made an amused sound. “He certainly has opinions.”

“And he has been here on and off. He would sit in your room for hours.” Wales shook his head. “Straight out of one of his Hollywood movies. At your bedside, waiting for you to wake up until someone made him leave.”

“A waste of time.” England shook his head leaning back as their plates were cleared.

“Every time he came it was with aid. Apparently, there are several charities that are providing what the government won’t commit to. It was romantic, if impractical.” Wales gave him a knowing look.

“What?” England scowled. “I had nothing to do with that.”

“It’s almost like his people have fallen for yours. In the morning, I’ll bring you the newspapers. The plight of the British people has become a focus.” Wales wrinkled his brow. “I’m surprised you hadn’t worked that out for yourself since you’ve woken.”

“Plenty of Americans in London despite what’s going on.” Ireland shrugged.

“It’s endearing certainly,” England murmured “But until I get official support it only goes so far. You know that.”

“They think it’s close, at least that’s what the ambassadors say. Now that they’re done fussing over their presidential election that is,” Ireland said. “From the meetings we sat in on while you were out.”

“Yes, I read that,” England murmured, hiding a yawn. He was exhausted. But he could make it through this dinner. He had to. Needed it to. “We shall see where it goes.”

“Like, no need to get your hopes up.” Poland frowned down at his plate.

“Seems like plenty. Lend-lease shipments are supposed to begin in full. It’ll be nice not to have to tighten the belt so much.” Ireland scooped up another forkful. “Don’t turn your nose up at food, Arthur.”

"Stuff it, Seamus you know I'm not." England scowled. "It’s still taking too long."

“You’re the only one who can try to light a fire under his ass. Ludwig might have lost it, but he’s still got his big brothers whispering in his ears. They know keeping Alfred off them is a good plan, look what it’s done.” Wales plucked a pipe from his jacket pocket as the rest of the course was cleared for the next.

"And Alfred's government has fallen for it hook, line, and sinker." England heaved a sigh.

“Matthew has told me it’s that they can’t agree. They have to get a majority to go to war. It was easier with kings... although perhaps that was why we had more war back then.”

"Who knows." England sighed as the final course was served "all I know is that if the Americans had troops over here everything would be very different."

“It would certainly be louder,” Ireland mused. Amusement passed around the table. England snorted as the dining room door was opened once again.

"Well look who's like totally back." Poland laughed. "Couldn't stay away Alfred?"

America paused in the doorway, surveying who was left. He’d taken off his dinner jacket, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. “Just checking in.”

"With what?" England lowered his glass.

“With you.” He leaned on the door frame. “And I figured if you weren’t gonna leave early, it’s probably time for dessert.” He stepped up and walked to the table, leaning on the back of the empty chair next to Ireland’s seat.

Tension swelled in the room like a balloon. "That's not happening tonight." India shook his head in disbelief and Poland gaped at him. It was common knowledge that the Kirkland brothers had insatiable sweet tooths. It was also a well known fact that sugar was the first ration to go.

America looked around. “What?”

"Alfred," England said tightly, embarrassment running his cheeks hot. "I can speak with you later."

“Yeah, after dessert.” America waved at one of the footmen who stepped out through the door and returned with a covered silver dish. “I asked about the meal with the cooks and they told me there hadn’t been any dessert for a while.” The dish was set down and the lid lifted to reveal a simple cake. “It got whipped up in a hurry.”

Everyone stared and England looked sharply up at America. "How many ration cards did you pull, Alfred!?"

“None, it’s from my supplies. I brought it. So you don’t have to feel guilty.”

They all stared at him. "You do realize that if we eat this and the others find out we are screwed.” Ireland looked up at him.

“Except that there’s more where that came from. It doesn’t have to be the last cake for a while.” He smiled at them. “Things are grim enough for there to not be any sweets.”

England stared at him and shook his head. "You... thank you."

America’s smile was warm. “You’re welcome.” Any conversation in the room disappeared as all attention turned to the speciality in front of them. In no time plates were cleared, thank yous were said and one by one the nations left for their rooms.

America reached out a finger to swipe a bit of the leftover frosting on the serving dish. He stuck the finger in his mouth, watching England scrape the last morsel from his plate. “I would have brought more if I’d known you were awake.”

"It's fine," England murmured, placing the fork down gently. He paused staring down at the dishware as if he found it offensive. "Next time don't start a revolt and upend my supper. I was enjoying that."

“Next time tell me that you’d been collapsing and then I wouldn’t have to worry about whether you could make it through dinner.”

England scowled. "Don't do it," he repeated.

“Do what?”

"Upend one of my suppers."

“Don’t hide things from me.”

"I didnt hide a fucking thing!" England hissed. "Now tell me you won't do it again!"

“You didn’t exactly tell me either.” America sighed. “I won’t upend your suppers.”

The tension left England's shoulders immediately and he slumped in his chair. "Thank you."

“Ready to go?” America reached out and brushed his fingers against England’s cheek. In the now empty dining room, his voice echoed quietly off the walls. The servant’s door opened and then closed again, people waiting in the wings to clear the aftermath of dinner.

"Well let's get going... to my room."

Standing up, America took hold of his chair, rolling him out of the dining room and into the corridor.

"Today has been long."England yawned rubbing at his eyes.

“I could do with it lasting a little longer.”

"Really?" England looked up at him. "Whatever for?"

America looked down. “Because I’m here with you... and you’re awake. Today is a good day.” He grinned. “Even if you were being stubborn.”

"You’re the one causing the problem." He scowled.

“I’ll take the blame today.” America leaned over and pressed a kiss to his forehead. He whispered, “As long as it means that you’ll be in my arms tonight. Even if you just want to sleep.”

The scowl softened into a smile. "That sounds lovely, love."

Picking up the pace, America got him to his room, closing the door between them and everyone else.

"You act like we are going to be ambushed." England snorted.

“Don’t want to take a chance, sweetheart.” America pulled England into his arms from the chair. He pressed a kiss to his mouth. “You still taste like sugar.”

"Well I would hope so. Just had some."

“Hmmm,” America hummed, kissing him again.

England interrupted the kiss with a yawn, his blinks growing slower as if he was struggling to keep his eyes open. "Sorry love, I've been getting tired fairly easily as of late."

“Okay.” America carried him into the room, settling him down on the bed. “Pajamas?”

England arched a brow. "What do you think?"

“I’m thinking that you’re thinking ‘no.’” America hooked his fingers into the buttons of England’s shirt, slipping them loose.

"How many nights have you spent in my bed that I have chided you about clothing?"

“More than I can count.” He brushed his fingers against England’s ribs as the shirt loosened.

"Ex-" He was interrupted by another yawn. "Exactly. Do I have to do it tonight as well?"

America smiled at him, stepping back and shaking his head. He shrugged out of his coat and began undressing. He watched England’s face, pausing as he tugged his undershirt over his head when England cleared his throat.

“Hurry up."

“Why don’t you help me with this part?” America stepped back, closer to the bed and taking one of England’s hands and putting it to his belt.

"I suppose I could." America closed his eyes as he felt England’s fingers brushing against the skin of his stomach. He made quick work of the buckle of his belt, then pulled it loose slowly. England’s knowledgeable fingers glided over his hips as the fabric loosened and slid down his legs. He took England’s hands in his own.

“Your turn,” he said, pressing England’s palm to his mouth for a moment before climbing onto the bed beside him.

"For someone who was bemoaning about turning in you certainly did so quickly," England teased as he scooted beneath the blankets.

“But being in the bed means I can do this.” He pulled England to his chest and wrapped his arms around him. “I just don’t want you to go to sleep, not yet.”

"You may have me for a minute or two more, but I think that's it." England yawned. Exhaustion tugged hard at him, tempting.

America pressed his forehead against England’s, a fear tugging at him. “The last time you fell asleep next to me you didn’t wake up.”

"Alfred, that won't happen." England's fingers brushed the tops of his cheeks "I'm just going to sleep for a little while."

“Just in case.” America tilted his head, pressing a soft kiss to England’s mouth before settling down against the pillows. “I love you.”

"Alfred... I love you too." England smiled before yawning and tucking himself beneath America’s chin, falling asleep almost immediately. America held him, trying to let his body relax enough to fall asleep as well, but it didn’t come. He wasn’t sure when the last time was that he’d really slept. There had been things to do. It may take a gallon of Coca Cola, but he would be fine in the morning he knew. When he walked out of England’s dinner, hoping he would follow, he’d gone to his room. He knew that papers were still spread across the floor as he tried to work out the numbers so that they could both have enough. When he got into the war, he didn’t want to be without. There had been too many wars fought that way already. One hundred years ago... he doubted that he’d believe he’d ever be here. Like this. The thought of it had been so new then. A few stolen kisses here and there. England’s smoking room. It had been easy to fall in love.

And now? England could tell him he loved him back.

He was here. Safe. In his arms.

For the moment. America pressed his nose into England’s hair in the darkness. How could he make him safe... everyone safe... when he couldn’t fight? It felt like an itching under his skin. The desire to do something, but not sure what. He listened to the alarm clock ticking away at the hours of darkness. He could only think. And wait for England to wake up again like he promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll be back next week with part 2! This scene got SUPER long as we were writing it, and we're excited to bring you the next part. Also - good news! We are actually ahead on writing (for once, lol) and will be able to bring the next few chapters out much quicker than we have been!
> 
> If you're enjoying our story, please leave a comment or a kudo! We love hearing from you!


	9. Come Back to me Love, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> England makes a vulnerable request.

Right as the grandfather clock gonged there was a knock on the door and Ronald pushed in a cart with two covered silver platters and a tea set. America hadn’t even gotten a chance to count the rings. He hadn’t wanted to look at the small clock on England’s bedside table. "Good morning, Master Jones."

“Good morning.” America yawned. He thought he’d maybe fallen asleep, but it hadn’t been long.

"Shall you wake the Lord or shall I?"

“I’ve got him, thanks.” England was curled against America’s chest, head on his shoulder. He breathed quietly. America waited until the other man had left and put his hand on England’s cheek, scooting down so he could kiss the end of England’s nose. He stirred slightly, but not opening his eyes. “It’s morning. Don’t know when, but daylight.”

"Which means too early. Go away." England's words came out slow and muddled with sleep. Sniffing, England blindly reached for the top cover and pulled it over his head. "Noon."

“Breakfast will get cold,” America murmured into the blanket that now covered England’s face. “Shouldn’t let it go to waste.” He tugged at the blanket, pulling it over both of them. He tucked his face against England’s neck, snuggling him. Relief settled in his chest. England had woken up.

"Just toast, be fine. I'm tired." England's arms wound around the younger blond.

“You barely moved all night.” He breathed in his scent.

"I told you, tired." England rubbed his eyes before stretching with a groan. "I want more cake."

“I can make that happen. I’ve got something else for you... wait here.” America kissed the side of his neck and moved off the bed, digging through his bag that had been brought to the room. He came back to the bed, flopping down and holding out the package. “Brought you a Hershey’s.”

"Perks to courting an American." England cracked open an eye and snagged the chocolate bar. Rolling onto his back the wrapper crackled loudly as he pulled it open. His delight manifested as a groan, sticking two small squares into his mouth.

“I hope there are more perks than just chocolate.” America watched him, his mouth sliding into a smile. He scooted forward, resting on the blanket at England’s side. He reached for the chocolate bar.

"No." England held it out of reach with a scowl. "Paws off, boy."

“That’s fine, I can get a taste in other ways.” He leaned up on his elbows and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of England’s mouth. He fought the feeling of tiredness that went through him. He wasn’t going to miss an entire day with England awake at his side.

"Gluttony," England chided before taking another bite. His eyes flicked to the breakfast cart. "Good, the tea is here."

“Is that a request?” America yawned, leaning away to reach for the cart. Soon, he offered a cup of tea to England’s free hand.

"No, that wasn't." England shook his head taking the cup. "But yet here it is presented to me. So if I claim that it was an order then at least I know you can still obey them."

“Is that what that was?” He settled back against the pillows.

"Well, it was a mere observation. Yet, it got me what I wanted."

“I want to give you what you want today.” He rolled toward him, resting his head on England’s stomach and looking up at him.

"You sure about that?" England peered down at him.

America met his gaze. “I’m sure.”

"Fine then." England's mouth worked to the right and he turned his whole attention to the tea. Taking his time England became amused as the more time passed the more America twitched with impatience.

“Really?” America said, sitting up. “What happened to Arthur from the garden?”

"Hush, boy. I'll get there." England's brow quirked. "My smokes case is in the side drawer. Fetch it for me."

America leaned, stretching out across the bed to fish into the drawer. He came out with the silver case and a lighter.

"Thank you." He snapped the case open with efficient ease before lighting one. "Now get to work, cowboy." A plume of smoke puffed between them.

America watched him for a moment, moving closer so that he could pull the blanket back from his body. He quickly replaced that warmth with his own body, careful to not crush him into the mattress. As England took another draw on his cigarette, America pressed his mouth to a spot just below his ear, a teasing brush of the skin at first and then grazing the spot with his teeth. “Tell me what you want, darling.”

"Come on, cowboy, let me watch." England grinned.

“Hmmm, you sure you just want to watch?” America shifted lower, pressing a kiss to the center of his chest.

"Watch you ride me? Yes, yes I do." England's hand slipped into America’s hair tightening his grip and pulled his head back. Lust flashed across America’s face at the request. He pressed a hand on England’s stomach and leaned forward to steal a kiss. Tugging his head free of England’s grip and went back to England’s drawer, bringing out the oil that was always in its place. He straddled England’s stomach, reaching behind with slicked fingers between England’s legs.

His hand moved slowly, taking in each of England’s sounds and adjusting until England slapped at his thigh with impatience. “Like 1892, sweetheart.” America’s eyes fell shut as he began to prepare himself.

“This may have started in 1892 for how long this is taking-”England's complaint ended in nonsensical syllables. Green eyes trained on the younger male’s face, watching for anything that morphed from discomfort to pain as he took his place. “Fuck...” It was a breathless explanation as America braced himself against England’s chest for leverage, moments passing as the man adjusted. “Alfred-” England's concern was erased as America’s hips gave an experimental roll, England swore at the sensation. It all escalated from there. Scratching nails raised welts along pale skin, voices hoarse from shouts and groans shattering the calm of the morning air. The bed creaked, threatening to buckle beneath the youth’s energy and vigor. The bed could collapse for all England cared, a crack above his head alerted the blond to the fact that Alfred was using the headboard as leverage.

In the end, the bed didn’t break, it held true as America collapsed on the bed beside him lifting the lighter as England grasped another smoke. After the first puff, the lighter was dropped back onto the bed stand as America stretched. He lay at England’s side with his arms resting on the pillow above his head. He looked up at the ceiling for a moment and then his eyes drifted shut. He rolled toward England, pressing his body up against his side. “I’d forgotten what that felt like.”

“Fucking?” England looked down at him in amusement. “If you had the ability to forget then I obviously wasn’t doing my job right.”

“No, that little moment right on the edge.” He looked up at him. “Part of me wondered if it was gone.” He leaned toward him. “Kiss me. Like when no one knew about us and we were ducking from place to place and we never knew if we’d get enough time. When you knew it was only a matter of time before you had me on my back.”

“I think desperation is the word you’re looking for love. And that is something that I cannot do right now.” With his free hand England traced along America’s cheekbones.

“Why not?” America leaned into his touch, arm sliding beneath England’s back to tuck him close to his chest.

“Because right now I have no desperation in me. I am comfortable, satiated.” England's lips curled around the smoke in his mouth. “Plus, you hate when I kiss you while smoking or even after.”

“Because you don’t taste like you. I can only taste the tobacco.” He pressed a kiss to England’s shoulder and then to the side of his neck. “And you could always kiss other places. I distinctly remember starting the rumor mill after you left me something right here.” He touched a spot on his neck and pressed his mouth against the same spot on England’s neck.

“Rumor mill, huh?” England grinned, sitting forward to press a kiss to that same spot. The clock made the time known and England looked up in alarm. “It’s almost eleven o’clock!”

“And?” America frowned.

“And Alistair and Matthew are going to be here for tea at that time. So we need to be dressed and presentable!”

“Let’s push it back to lunch. Gives us a whole ‘nother hour.” He nuzzled England’s collarbone. “I’ll make it worth it.”

"No, no. It's also work." England reached for his smokes case. "Plus, I'm out." He frowned at the empty spaces. "After. Come now we need to rinse and dress. I'm parched."

“Only ‘cause I promised you what you wanted today.” America pressed a kiss to his cheek before helping England out of bed.

“Then no one can say that you are distracting me from my work. Leaves less of a mess to clean up later.” England pointed out as he once again, tried and failed to tame his hair. The dressing was slow, once again interrupted by kisses and innocent touches that pointed towards much less innocent actions later when they had regained their privacy. In no time, America was pushing England out into the sitting room as Canada poured himself a cup of tea from the cart.

“Good morning Arthur, Alfred.” Canada’s voice was soft as usual, a balm in all the chaos. “Alistair said he will be here, just running a bit late.” He sat on the sofa as America went to get England’s tea.

“Let me guess. Laura?”

“Yes.” Canada flushed.

“Figured. They’ve been dancing around each other for years. Her brother is terrifying so I would tread carefully, too.” He shook his head. “Matthew, I ran out of smokes, can I snag one off of you for the time being?”

“Of course.” Canada nodded and fished a case out of his pocket, handing it over.

“Thanks love. I’m hoping Ronald arrives with some soon. I told him yesterday I was getting low.” England lit his own and handed over his own lighter as Canada stuck one between his lips to do the same.

“Since when do you smoke?” America asked, voice growing concerned. Canada froze just as he finished lighting the end. Violet eyes flicked to meet green who was staring wide-eyed in return.

"Shit." It was in unison.

"Well uh...a couple of years ago..." Canada muttered.

“Years!?” America slammed his hand down on the table, rattling the china.

"Alfred, calm down." England frowned. "Everything in here is vintage."

America frowned at his brother, crossing his arms in the chair beside England. “Why the hell did you start smoking?”

"You know you are taking this better than we thought," England observed with amusement and Canada heaved a sigh.

"I just did, Al."

“Yeah, and the war just happened.” America’s brow furrowed, his brow deepening. “What caused you to start? Arthur’s been smoking forever, but not you.”

"Just decided to take it up." Canada lifted one shoulder.

“No one just takes it up. When did you start? Which year?”

"I don't remember that. It just helps, Al." Canada frowned, tapping the burning end.

America looked ready to snatch it out of his hand. “Which battle? You probably remember that.” When Canada still didn’t look at him or answer, America turned to England. “Which battle?” he asked him instead. England lifted his cup to his lips taking a slow sip as he eyed his lover.

"Honestly, I couldn't pin it. But it was before the Great War."

“You’ve been smoking for twenty years and you’ve been hiding it from me?” America leaned back in his seat and shook his head. “Nobody tells me anything... it’s like Defence Scheme No. 1 all over again.”

Canada’s cheeks turned red. “It’s not like you didn’t have a plan to invade me, too!”

“You’re not that good at spying, Mattie. And Montana? They would have noticed.” America took a long draw from his coffee cup, wrinkling his nose at how weak it was, but then downing it regardless. “But apparently you are real good at hiding personal stuff from me.” His voice was bitter.

"Alfred Jones, that is not fair." England scowled. "It's not like it’s some big international crisis."

“It’s my brother acting like he can’t tell me things!"

"Maybe I wanted to avoid this." Canada frowned.

“What’s the point of that? If you’d told me decades ago, it would have been over with!”

"You wouldn't have acted any differently. Actually possibly more irrational." Canada gestured for England to hand back his case. He was going to need another one.

“I’m irrational?” America stood up, his fist clenched at his sides. “It’s not the smoking. It’s the hiding.”

"Or maybe it's none of your business so I didn’t have to tell you!"

“You never tell me anything anymore! You didn’t even tell me that Arthur was awake until I was fucking here!”

“Of course I didn’t tell you! I didn’t want you rushing over here in the middle of a war! You needed to keep your wits about you!” Canada spat. “It would have been dangerous for everyone involved!”

“Stop trying to protect me! That’s my job!” America’s voice cracked and he snapped his mouth shut, gritting his teeth.

“Alfred, that is not fair,” England cut in with a frown.

“There’s a lot that’s not fair right now. And you guys are...” He put a hand over his face.

“Alfred.” Canada smudged out the cigarette before getting to his feet, casting England a glance and turned towards his twin. For a moment he was silent before he shoved his hands in his pant pockets. “This isn’t about the smoking is it?”

“It’s...” America took a deep breath. “Do you two know what it felt like to come back and find you both in the hospital? And then for Arthur to...”

“Al, that’s over with, the blitz is done.”

“The war isn’t.”

“Well, no. But we cannot do anything about that except continue to fight the enemy and not ourselves,” England said softly, watching the North American brothers.

America looked at him, the usual brash confidence, even the warmth and joy that those eyes had held when they were alone, was missing. He seemed to realize it and turned to look at the floor so England couldn’t quite see his emotions. “ _You_ continue to fight. _I_ want to fight.” The words were said under his breath, it was clear that he didn’t intend for them to hear them. Canada leaned forward as if trying to catch it, but England heard them clearly.

"Alfred..." England sighed. They’d had this fight, this discussion multiple times. "There's nothing we can do about that and you know that."

America looked at him. It wasn’t done for him... he knew England wanted to be past the conversation. He forced his arms to drop to his sides and return to his seat, seeing that Canada was still hovering. He could do it for them. Pretend that he wasn’t torn between throwing all caution to the wind and burying himself in the sand. The emotions were so at odds there had been days when he’d just stared at the papers on his desk, the plans for what would happen if he went to war, what would happen if he didn’t... and he would look up again and find that the sun had gone down and the clock had ticked into the wee hours of a new day. He swallowed. “Do you want more tea, Arthur?”

"No, not yet." England eyed him as Canada lit another cigarette. The Canadian’s foot tapped lightly in agitation.

“Let’s just start over, Matt.” America refilled his coffee cup.

"How and where?" His brother eyed him before moving over to top off England's cup anyways.

“From when we came in.”

"All right," Canada said slowly and England shrugged.

"If that's what you want, love."

“It’s been a... rough few days before I got here. I don’t want to take it out on you, Matt.” America sat his cup down on its saucer and ran his finger over the rim. “My boss ordered all of the German and Italian consulates closed in the wake of what happened with the _SS Robin Moor._ I’m also moving more troops to Iceland to cover my shipping routes. If you sail British and Canadian ships closer to mine, he’ll have to think twice. I know it’s already been in place, but I have a feeling my boss might order ‘shoot on sight’ sometime soon.”

"We can't set anything up based on a feeling, Alfred," England countered.

“I know. I just wanted to put it out there. I’m tired of everyone looking at me like I don’t see anything. So now that it’s out there, we can move on.”

“And we ‘ave been waitin’ for you to move on.” Scotland's rolling accent cut through the tension in the room as he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. Scotland towered over the three men in the room and not simply because he was the only one standing. He was tall and many were often wary of his rough-edged attitude, he had held his own against England more than once.

America stiffened. “I know that. You know that I’m working on it. I told you plenty of times.”

“Well, how about you stop talking about it until you actually do something. I’m sure I am not the only one who’s tired of the broken record and no results. So don’t talk about it unless something has been done” Scotland dropped into the seat next to Canada with a grunt.

Scoffing, America turned his head for a moment to look at the wall and then back at the group. “If we make this fast I can make sure you guys get the next issue of the Superman comic.”

Three pairs of eyes centered on the American nation before England cleared his throat “Excuse me?”

“What? It’s a hot commodity.”

“I got dragged out of bed for this?” Scotland scoffed, lighting a cigarette.

Canada sighed. “It’s for Arthur,” he whispered. His face was a little sad and America wondered if he wasn’t the only one that hadn’t been dragged out of bed for this. If France was still as bad as he’d been before... Canada looked at him and America could feel a cold front coming in if he dared to bring it up.

“Well, we aren’t allowed to talk about the war. Alistair has decided no comics. So... horses, cars, or liquor?” America figured those topics would be safe enough.

England’s lip curled slightly. This was supposed to be a functional meeting and it was turning into a petty set of disagreements. His head was beginning to hurt. "I'm not feeling well, perhaps we should table this for now."

Everyone at the table turned their attention to him. Scotland tapped some of the ash off the end of his cigarette before taking a long draw. “Tell us what you called us here for, then we can all get back to finding what respite we can.” Something at breakfast wasn’t sitting well with him.

"It's nothing that can't wait. Go."

“Nah, I’m already up.” He smiled. “And you’ll probably have more fun with your lad there if this takes a while.”

"No." England shook his head. "Honestly." He looked to Canada. "Both of you go on."

Scotland scoffed, but didn’t seem to put out as he dropped his cigarette in the tray. “Francis was looking better at breakfast,” he said to Canada as he stood up. “You should visit him.”

“We’ll see,” Canada muttered. “Would you like to keep your dinner, Arthur, or wait and see?”

"No. Cancel everything. You'll all do as you will anyhow. And yes go check on Francis for me, Matthew."

“Of course I will,” Canada said. He looked at America for a moment and then nodded to England. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

"Yes." England swallowed. "Have a good day."

“Bye, Matt, I hope he is doing better.” Canada just shrugged and turned away. America watched him go before speaking. “Have you seen him since you woke up? Francis?”

"Alfred, fetch the waste paper basket would you?" England ignored the question as the door clicked shut. America turned to ask why, but clearly saw the paleness in England’s cheeks. He hopped up to grab the basket and brought it back in a moment. The timing was impeccable, England's fingers barely closing around the rim before he revisited his breakfast violently, head deep in the basket. He felt a hand steadying him on the shoulder as his whole body heaved. This was getting rather old. When there was nothing left inside him England slumped against the chair back with a deep breath. "Thank you."

“How long were you feeling ill?” America poured out some water from the pitcher on the table and offered it to him.

"Oh, I don't know. Last year or so," England muttered, taking the glass.

“You know what I mean, jackass.” America brushed his fingers against his cheek. “You feel cold.”

"Really how odd. It will pass." England handed the empty glass back.

“Do you need to lay down?”

"No. I'll be good now." England shook his head. "But if you insist we can."

“What do you want to do?” America asked, filling up the cup again in case England needed more. He pulled his chair closer, his fingers resting lightly on the back of England’s hand that rested on the arm of the wheelchair. “I screwed up tea, it’s the least I can do.”

"Let's go for a ride."

“Where to?”

"No real place. Let's just saddle up." England smiled twining his fingers with America’s.

America squeezed his hand. He chuckled. “Horses?”

"Just one. We shall be riding double."

“Let’s do it.”

***

Soon, they were down in the stables, very few horses were left, most evacuated out to the country. America patted the horse on the neck for a moment, before helping England out of his wheelchair and into the saddle. His hands settled England while he got comfortable. “In front or behind?” he asked, hooking one foot into the stirrup.

“Behind, of course.” England arched a brow, grinning as America rolled his eyes and swung into the saddle. The moment America was seated a sharp whistle escaped England’s lips and the mare took off. Time flew. Neither nation knew how long they had been out on horseback, but by the time they returned to the stable yard the sun was far below the horizon and England was slumped back against America’s chest. A ride that would have normally been a brisk outing had wiped him out.

America kept his arm wrapped around England’s waist as they got closer. His veins thrummed with the hope that had come back into him with feeling England so alive against his chest. Despite what had happened over the past months, he’d come through to the other side. He was here, and it was a heady feeling. He wondered if that was what the couples they’d seen were feeling, the desire to still love even when the world looked so completely black. He climbed out of the saddle, catching England as he swayed. “Careful, sweetheart, c’mere.” Carefully, he helped England down, cradling him in his arms.

“Where else am I gonna go, in the dirt?” England sassed, interrupted by a yawn.

“Once upon a time,” America teased. “But not tonight. Let’s get you inside.”

“Giddy-up cowboy.” England snorted. "To the bedroom."

America smiled. “Don’t have to ask twice.” They made their way through the hallways, not meeting anyone else. Their good luck from the ride continued as they were in England’s quarters. America paused as the door closed behind them, pressing a kiss to England’s temple. “You smell like horses.”

“Now how do you think that could have happened? A mystery! Must call Scotland Yard!” His hands pressed to his cheeks like a horrified lady right out of a Victorian novel.

“Smart ass.” America chuckled as he brought England through the bedroom door. He lay England down on the bed. “How about you use your mouth for something else?” He didn’t wait for an answer, leaning over to kiss him.

"For a brandy? Why that's a great idea," England offered his cheek at the last second.

America sighed dramatically, obviously for show, pressing his kiss against England’s jaw instead. “Is that a request?” He lowered his head, pressing another kiss against England’s pulse.

"Very much so, Master Jones."

“All righty, then, Lord Kirkland. I’m guessing you have some in the parlor?”

The words died on his lips and England stared at him. "What?"

“The brandy, is there a decanter of it somewhere?” America leaned up on his elbows and looked down at him.

"I... yes." England reached up and ran his hands through America's hair.

“You gotta let go of me if you want me to get it for you.” America’s eyes drifted closed as England combed through his hair.

"Well, then get to it." England held his hands up in surrender, a grin lighting his features. He shook his head in amusement as America sighed, getting up and heading into the parlor. Dragging his hands down his face a large yawn interrupted his thoughts. He had seen America leaving his bedroom, blinked three times, and never saw America come back in.

***

America walked back in with the bottle. “How much do you...” His voice trailed off as he saw England laying there with his eyes closed. For a moment, panic flashed through him and he hurried to the bedside. “Arthur?” No response. The rise and fall of his chest was steady. He tried to calm the upset in his chest. England was just asleep after the busy day, but somehow the thought didn’t comfort him. He climbed up beside him and shook him lightly. “Arthur?” It took a few moments, but then England was squinting up at him.

"Fuck... what?" He sounded less than pleased.

America released the breath he’d been holding and pressed his forehead against England’s hair. “You scared me.”

"I didn't do anything," England mumbled and rubbed at his eyes. He was exhausted. "Dozed is all."

“You can go back to sleep, sweetheart, I just wanted to make sure you could still wake up. Let’s get you more comfortable.” His fingers went to England’s shirt buttons. America swallowed, hoping England couldn’t feel his fingers shaking.

"Of course, I can." England reached up to run his hands through the blond locks again before yawning.

“Let’s get some sleep. We can kiss each other awake in the morning.” America smiled softly at him. “Unless you think you can stay awake for the brandy.”

"A brandy in the bath in the morning. Sleep first."

America nodded, helping England up against the pillows and then climbing in beside him. England’s breathing evened out again. He found it hard to sleep himself once again, even as he pressed his nose against England’s hair and breathed him in. Gone was the smell of hospitals and medicines. Despite that, he still felt fragile in America’s arms. But fragile like a steel cord, it still took a lot to break it. The clock on the mantle had chimed three in the morning before he found himself too tired to stay awake and keep watch any longer.

***

Thumbs rubbing circles into his lumbar pulled England from his sleep with a groan. He was slow to wake and the dampness pressed to his cheek let him know that he was drooling into the pillow. And the weight situated on the back of his thighs was warm and familiar "Alfred?" It came out as a croak, throat dry from sleep.

America continued the massage, pressing his fingers into the muscles. “I’m here. I didn’t mean to wake you up. I couldn’t sleep anymore.”

"You kids and your endless energy," England muttered shifting slightly. "Time?”

“Early still. Just a little past dawn so...” America leaned over, the alarm clock jingling as he picked it up. “Fifteen until seven.” His palm was warm on England’s back.

"Absolutely not!" England scoffed. "Back to sleep." He groped for the blankets. America shifted off him and tucked England back in as he lay back down beside him.

“You’re healing up.” America’s hand settled between England’s shoulder blades, tracing his spine. “You’ll be stronger in no time.”

"We shall see." England was cautious. It did no good to get one's hopes up.

“We will.” America smiled at him, wrapping his arms around him. “Now sleep, sweetheart.”

“Alfred?”

“Hmmm?”

England hesitated, the words turned over in his mind over and over. The thought of them sent a flush through to his core. But here, in America’s arms, it was all he could think about. “Tonight, I want you to make love to me.”

America’s hands stilled for a moment, taking in the words. Then, his mouth was against England’s. The kiss was soft, a promise and it made England want him all the more. He kissed him back and then settled his head on America’s shoulder, letting the knowledge that America would keep him safe in his arms that night pull him into sleep.

***

_Later that evening..._

America was ready to throw things. It was only England’s face when he looked ready to toss a lamp at the politicians that stopped him. It was a request. _Keep calm and they’ll let me loose sooner._ America was left to his own devices throughout the afternoon, talking to his ambassadors and trying to tie up a few loose ends. He wouldn’t be allowed to stay long. He didn’t want to dwell on how short a span of time they’d have, he didn’t want to rush through things. He wasn’t back to his full strength, but he was awake and he hoped the war could wait one more day.

"You look like a caged lion." England's comment was light at Ronald pushed him into the parlor. He looked exhausted. Today had been long and tomorrow looked even longer.

“I feel like one, too.” America ran a hand through his hair and moved forward. “I can take it from here.”

"I'm only on a break, Alfred," England warned. War meetings took days.

“It’s nearly dinner time. I think you can take the rest of the night off. Be refreshed for tomorrow.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “They told me I could get sent home any day now.”

England's brow creased. "You've only been here two days." He was going to have to make a scene wasn't he? He had made a decision when he had woken up and he was going to follow it through. Not even the fucking Nazis were going to get in his way.

“I want to stay. I want...” He glanced up at Ronald, not wanting to say anything more in front of someone else.

"Ronald…" England looked over his shoulder at the man. "I will be taking a private supper withMaster Jones in my tower."

America watched him leave, the door closing on them quietly. “No one will bother us?”

"You know the rules of my tower, Alfred." England wheeled his chair forward, and America stepped behind him.

“Of course, sir.” Ronald nodded and with a sharp bow took off to fulfill his assigned duties.

“I know. I just wanted to make sure.” They made their way through the halls toward the hidden entrance to England’s tower. America stopped near the door and came around to the front of England’s wheelchair. He scooped him up and held him to his chest.

"Alfred..."

"Lord Kirkland." The trays rattled loudly as Ronald scurried haphazardly down the hallway in his nervous nature and pushing the dinner trolley.

“Thanks, Ronnie.” America said.

"Ronald will do just fine, Master Jones" he heaved a sigh but kept his expression neutral. But for one moment an exasperated expression flickered across his face in a familiar manner. They got to the top of the stairs, the food set out and Ronald asking if there was anything else needed.

"No, thank you. You may have the rest of the evening off." England smiled and the man nodded and with a bow disappeared down the steps. England took no time at all to turn America’s face towards him in a kiss. England had been thinking about it all day. In any lull, the thought of America’s mouth against his own had buoyed him for the work.

Lowering him onto the cushions beside the low table, America pressed back into the kiss, tongue sliding against England’s lower lip. Fisting his hands into his hair, England moaned softly against his mouth, relishing the closeness of the other. Yet, once again his body seemed to have other ideas as his stomach growled.

America chuckled. “I don’t know which is worse, your stomach or mine.” He helped England sit up, leaning against him so they could examine the food.

"Hush," England chided taking one of the large slices of bread and cheese. He eyed it for a moment before taking an over sized bite, cheeks puffing.

Reaching for some for himself, America absentmindedly wrapped an arm around England’s waist, his fingers curling against his side. “Makes me want to kidnap you. Feed you hamburgers. That’d fill you up.”

"Or just eat here." He shrugged, polishing off the cheese and bread before grabbing another and cramming it into his mouth and reaching for the wine bottle as he swallowed. "Without meddlesome clothing." ****

America pressed a kiss to the side of England's neck. His fingers poked between the buttons on his shirt. "You didn't order me any hamburgers." America kissed his ear as he picked up a large chunk of cheese and stuffed it in his mouth.

"Beef was last week's ration card," England groused, taking a sip.

America hummed, his fingers working on the buttons of England's shirt. "Until next time, then."

"Uh, huh." England grabbed another piece and took a bite. He was ravenous, and with the way America's fingers were brushing over his belly, he was soon going to be starved in a new way.

Taking the wine bottle from England's fingers, America took a long drink. "That tastes like the old days, back when I couldn't tell you what I wanted."

"Those days," England flinched as if it was painful to think on. "Thank goodness," he polished off his bite before eyeing a fourth. "Speaking of want, you didn't finish telling me what you wanted."

"You want to know what I want right now?" he whispered, his lips brushing England's ear.

"You did say hamburgers," England mumbled, seizing an egg from the platter.

"Yeah, but I also want..." He drew England's open shirt off one shoulder, pressing his lips to the revealed skin. It was gentle, England knew his skin was mottled from the bombings. Teeth sinking into the egg, England simpered.

"Uh, huh?"

"To kiss every inch of you. Feel you alive under my hands." His hand slid up over England's stomach and chest, resting over his heart. "To hear you call my name." His teeth grazed over a sensitive spot beside England's ear.

England inhaled sharply, then took a deep swig of wine. "When did all this happen?" he faltered.

"What?" America asked.

"You get this smooth?" England turned, kissing him hard, tongue dipping into his mouth. America brought England closer, tongues tangling, shirt slipping further.

"When I thought I was gonna lose you forever, I realized how stupid it was to worry that I was going too far. You'll just have to tell me." He tugged on the shirt, the fabric catching on England's elbows.

"I like the sound of that," England sighed, wiggling free of the shirt and returning the favor, fingertips tracing over pink flesh. Arching into another kiss, humming America laid him back into the overstuffed pallet of blankets, quilts, and pillows. Hips lifted as pants dragged off, socks tossed into corners.

Wriggling on top of him beneath the blankets, America's warm skin brushing his own, quivering beneath England's embrace. Lips brushed over England's jaw, resting on his pulse. He proceeded leisurely, tenderly. Kisses lingering after his mouth moved on, so different than the night before. Making good on his desire to caress every measure of England. They took their time, a slow rediscovery after the hot desire they’d had for each other last night. If England had a spell to slow time even further, he would have used it.

"Alfred," England whispered, his hands skating down the muscled expanse of America's back, fingers kneading at the muscles. He swallowed, concentrating hard on elevating his knees, folding over America's hips. He wavered, England hadn't told an untruth. He had the chair because walking was exhausting. But the fact he couldn't admit was that he couldn't walk at all. He could scarcely stand.

America's fingers hooked beneath England's right knee, fingers trailing along his thigh. He leaned in to kiss him, the fingers of his left hand brushing through England's hair, tucking the strands behind his ear. A smile etched itself into England's lips as he kissed the American back, deepening the kiss, hands pushing against the boy's lower back. It felt right here. Nothing else in the world made a lick of sense, except for this.

"Alfred."

"Say my name again." He pulled his body closer, pressing against him.

"Needy boy," England murmured, kissing beneath his jaw, sighing. "Alfred."

America’s hold shifted. A murmur of pleasure, escaping his lips. He moved his fingers from England's hair, down his arm until he could twine their fingers together. He pressed their hands into the cushions above England's head. Pulling back, America peered into his eyes,emotion, raw, love, and worry and joy radiating from every pore. England's own little sunbeam.

"Calm down, boy," he hushed, sliding his fingers free to stroke his face. America's smile was brief before it was hidden in the crook of England's neck, tears peppering his skin. They settled into a rhythm, hands, and mouths rediscovering. America gentling when England made a soft sound. For the first time in a long time, they were in sync.

"I told you it would be fine, love." England's kiss to his temple accompanying murmurs of affection.

A breath escaped America, another kiss starting. He pressed his hand between England's legs, the motion changing the urgency of the situation. Desire sharpened.

"Alfred! Don't toy with me!" England gasped, back arching sharply. America made to move so that England could get on top, but England held him fast. One arm wrapping around America's neck, holding him close. The fingers of his other hand trailed down America's belly, smoothing his fingers against the muscles of his stomach. Fingers dipping lower, America's cock heavy in his hand. “I meant what I said this morning.”

America shuddered, a sharp intake of breath. He didn't move away, shifting enough so that his eyes could meet England's own. "You sure?"

England directed their bodies together, the question being answered without words. It was a natural process, preparing the other. But it weighed more substantial in the air tonight.He watched America's eyes fall closed, his focus on the way their bodies fit together when they were like this. Never before. "Alfred." It was breathless. Large hands folding around nimble fingers, pressing them high above them into the blankets as the younger male took the lead. Long lashes fluttered rapidly in tune with low moans becoming encouragement, guiding him forward. What had been tentative touches searching for familiar ground morphed into an insatiable drive. Crossing lines that had been eyed for so long. Beneath him, letting America take charge. The air was cluttered, breathy noises shoving for the forefront amongst the sound of skin slapping against skin, sheets hissing. It was a vice grip as America leaned over the other, hair brushing over his eyes as he watched.

America wanted to remember every way England moved beneath him, every sound that slipped through his lips. The biting of a full bottom lip, the desperate cling to the fabric, the long exposure of throat as a wave of pleasure threatened to consume him. Green eyes peering at him, love and lust stirred about, giving no hint as to where one started and the other stopped.

This moment he'd dreamed about, the fantasy coming in lonely nights when England had been far away. Instead, he found that he couldn't think at all. It was pure instinct. He only existed at the moment. He couldn't think of anything but the way England's breath felt against his skin as he bent over him. "Arthur..." he gasped. He wanted to kiss him, he leaned further, the slide of their bodies stealing all thoughts from his head.

Gasps. Begging. Demands. All tangled in the air together in one chorus of carnal pleasure. England failed to catch his breath, body trembling against America and the sheets. Sweat slicked skin sticking to everything. "Oh my..." Reduced to a writhing, sticky mess. "Alfred, I'm going to-"

"Yes!"

"Fuck!"

America wasn't capable of words, he slowly moved off him, his limbs shook. He lay down beside him, drawing England into his arms. His hair stringy with sweat, eyes sliding closed. He pressed his nose into England's hair with a pleased sigh that morphed into the slow breathing of sleep.

England shivered again and reached around America to hold him. His skin was slick with sweat, smelling of sex, and contentment. It was a struggle to keep his eyes open as his gaze strayed to the window, the stars hidden by the clouds ambling across the sky. But he knew they were there. Even if he couldn't see them. They were always there. He was always there.

America pressed a kiss to the top of his head, not sleeping after all. “You’re okay?”

"Why do you ask?" England hummed, rubbing his fingers down America’s back.

Tracing a line down England’s side, America asked, “I guess I meant to ask, how do you feel?”

"Good," he murmured, tucking his face in America’s shoulder in embarrassment. America hooked his fingers beneath his chin so he could press a kiss to his mouth. He grinned as he pulled away.

“Does that mean I get to do it again?”

"Give me a minute, boy!" England slapped at his chest. America chuckled and snuggled back against him.

“We’ve got forever.”

England pulled away in response to stare at him, palms pressing against his chest to put space between them. His eyes searched America’s, hesitating.

America’s eyes widened. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

England's breath left him in a rush. "I love you, Alfred."

America smiled a soft one, the really honest one that England only saw when they were alone. He brushed his fingers against England’s cheek. He would never get tired of those words. “I love you, too.”

England turned scarlet with embarrassment and pulled the man into another kiss. "Again," he breathed.

“I love you.” America kissed him back, their bodies twining together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! They're heading back to the war soon after their respite, so be prepared!
> 
> If you've been enjoying our story, please leave us a comment or a kudo (and if you haven't already - tell your friends)! We've been really excited to see all of the responses we've gotten to this series over the years!


	10. A Tempest Arrives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America and England have come to a new understanding in their relationship, but the rest of the world doesn't understand. And is certainly ready to get in the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Physical harm to main character.

_A few days later..._

America leaned over the back of the chair, wrapping his arms around England and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Papers were strewn about across the small table that had been pushed into England’s parlor. America knew what was on most of them. It had been part of the new agreement, no secrets anymore. Open intelligence between them for the coordination of an American entry into the war, at some point. His boss and ambassadors had left that decidedly vague. “You should take a break.”

"And do what with the time?" England looked up at America through his reading glasses. The boy’s attentions had increased when America had found out that he couldn't walk at all. The boy had been sent in a rage. It had taken nearly an hour to calm him down and he had barely left England's side since then.

“I’m sure we’ll think of something, babe.” He tilted England’s chin up so he could press a soft kiss to his mouth. “It’s a marathon, not a sprint.”

"But you know splitting up sprints and marathons is beneficial for training," England hummed into the kiss, guiding the hand that was on his chest to his lower belly, lips curling as wicked thoughts charged his brain. "I'm feeling much better you know... do you remember, oh, about one hundred years ago when I told you something that I couldn't wait until you were ready to do?"

“Which one? Desk, wall?” America said, smiling. His hands went lower, undoing the top button of England’s trousers.

"I don't want to mess with my paperwork stacks right now so wall it is," England's breath skipped in anticipation, back arching sharply as America’s hand disappeared under the desk. "Just not on top of a painting," he moaned quietly. A loud French voice from the hall was like a pot of cold water.

America had barely gotten his hand out of England’s pants when the door slammed open so hard it banged into the wall behind. France walked in, face flushed with anger. “I have put up with it long enough!”

"What the bloody hell are you on about now, frog!?" England snapped, irritation plain on his face. So close!

“How can you ignore the fact that Alfred is still continuing to drag his heels while you fight this war alone?” France turned his gaze on America. “How do you justify the demands you are making on all of us!?”

“Francis, I am doing what I can.”

England's temper deflated in understanding. "Francis... I'm trying. Trust me I know how hard it is."

“Now that Ivan has drawn the threat of invasion away, you seem content to let him,” France gestured harshly at America, “While away his time here as though we are not in conflict! Alfred, _toi idiot.”_

"That is not the case and you know it," England's tone was sharp. "I have yelled and I have pleaded and yet it does nothing.”

America’s face hardened. “Short of breaking my system of government, I have done all I can! Unless you can make Ludwig declare war on me first!?”

“And what happens if Kiku joins them? What are you doing about that?”

“I’m working on it. That would be the wrong war in the wrong ocean! He and I are working it out.”

"It's going to take a hit on American soil before you fucking do anything!" France spat.

"Francis, Alfred enough!" England gripped the arms of his chair. France ignored him, his upper lip curling.

"And you say that you are trying!" France ground out. "You know now that I think about it, a hit on American soil would be the only thing to convince you!" He gestured angrily at England. "Sure as hell didn't light a fire under your ass when Arthur was being bombed to death! Lost his eyesight? _Non_ , wasn't enough. Went into a coma? _Non,_ a shoulder shrug. Cant walk? Who cares if he's available for a fuck, huh!?"

England could feel the wood of his chair creak as America’s fingers dug into it. He looked up at his face and saw that it had gone white, until the flush of anger took over. “At least I’m not begging Arthur to fight my battles while I cower on his doorstep after I let another nation occupy my land.”

"At least I fucking tried!" France spat. "For fuck sakes! Arthur why are you even bothering, it's not like he could be that good of a fuck!"

The wood creaked again. “What’s between us is none of your damn business,” America said. Any of his normal good nature was gone and it was as if a chill fell over the room. England hadn’t heard that tone in America’s voice in a long time.

Reaching back England touched his hand in warning. "Francis, you use harsh and inappropriate words against my guest. I know you are upset, but that is inappropriate."

"But I do not see you arguing my points, Arthur."

England looked down for a moment before shaking his head. "No."

America put his left hand on England’s where it rested on his right. “You think I don’t know how it looks? I broke my own laws to be here. They are getting close and then I’ll be able to help.”

"Alfred," he looked up at the younger nation. "Francis and I need to go take a walk. Rest here would you, love?"

“But...” His brow furrowed. England twisted as much as he could, touching his face gently. “I’ll be here when you’re back.”

"Thank you." He nodded and gestured for America to lean closer. When he did, his lips brushed the shell of America’s ear in a whisper. "Order food and wine. I don't want you waiting at my desk, I want you waiting naked in my bed, thoughts on me. At full attention, soldier." He grinned and pulled away with a serious expression. "Help me into the chair, frog."

France came over to offer England a shoulder to lean on, but America took him up first and helped him into the wheelchair. He gave France an irritated look, but passed England off to him. Once they were out in the hall. “ _Mon dieu,_ you better be ready to explain how you can act that way with such a disloyal _garçon_.”

"Because he and I have been fighting long enough and I'm tired of it. I'm tired of fighting a war, why should I also fight them in my personal life?" England signed, slumping in the chair. He was tired again.

“So you will just let him act as though nothing in the world is wrong. That you... Arthur, you know that your power might never be the same again. Does he?”

"No, he doesn't know anything about that." England shook his head.

“Will you tell him?”

"He doesn't believe in magic. There is no point." England shrugged, a sudden wash of sadness at the thought. "There's just a whole side of me he will never know. He can’t see magic."

“And the rest? Who do you think will do it?”

"I don't know, Francis." The thought of someone hurting America turned his stomach.

“But you know that he’ll bleed before his people wake up.” France’s voice had an edge. As though he believed that America deserved whatever was coming towards him.

"That's what I'm worried about Francis. I hope it doesn't come to that. I'm trying my hardest to free you." He rubbed at his temple.

“And you wouldn’t have to do it on your own if he’d...” France scoffed and shook his head. “You were always so adamant about boundaries with him in the past. And...” France pulled the wheelchair abruptly to a stop. “You’ve told him.”

"Told him what?"

“You finally found the words for your feelings have you?” France sighed in frustration. “No wonder he is sticking to you like a burr on a horse’s tail.”

“That is none of your business,” England mumbled, avoiding his oldest friend’s eyes in embarrassment.

“That complicates matters. And yet...” France pushed England to the side of the path and sat down on a bench to face him. “You know that I am right. You two have locked yourselves into something that hasn’t been done in a long time, if ever... what will happen when the rest of the world catches up?”

"Have you and Matthew not done the same?" England countered.

“Personally, perhaps. Politically, not at all.” France gripped the edge of the bench. “I do not influence his government and vice versa. At least not to the degree you have shown. You and _Amerique,_ you are in bed in more ways than one. That troubles me.”

England frowned. “If that is the concern then wouldn't it be favorable for me to be ‘in his bed’?”

“Arthur, I have known you for a long time. I’ve never seen you willingly give up power before. And for Alfred to just take it when he hasn’t given his all... I’m worried about you.” France frowned and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t like it, but in this particular card game with Ludwig and Feliciano you are dealing my hand as well and I don’t trust Alfred right now.”

"I haven't given up any power." England shook his head. "Could you imagine the damage, the anger, that would come from him if I forbade him right now? After everything that just happened to me? The guilt he already feels? I see it every time he has to put me in this fucking chair." He gestured angrily. "Every time I rub my eyes, when he sees my naked skin in the bath. I still look like some amateur’s paint palette..." He pointed to the fading bruises on his temple and jaw. "If seeing that doesn't prompt him to fight... the constant reminder that American support could have quite possibly kept me from such suffering? I don't know what will. The American people are back peddling from their staunch neutrality thoughts, but he know that his charity isn’t enough. And I agree. It will take an attack on American soil to push them over the edge." He swallowed the thought, trying not to let his imagination run wild.

“He’s been attacked so few times. The convenience of only two neighbors. Ludwig certainly listened when his brothers taught him military strategy...” France paused. “Do you think he is even prepared? The intelligence says he isn’t.”

"No, I don’t think he is. When he gets hit he is going to fall hard." England swallowed.

France sighed. “Heaven help whoever does it. But I won’t deny I’ll be relieved.”

"Watch your tongue, frog."

France looked away with a huff. “I’ve said my piece. Go back to him if that’s what you want. With every energetic touch he leaves you in a worse position.” France stood up, clearly intending to get the last word.

"Don't you dare talk shit about Alfred to Matthew."

“I assure you that _Mathieu_ has considerable complaints about his brother. I don’t have to say a word.”

"Enough, Francis," England warned. "I will not stand for any dissension right now."

France’s face was still dark. “You cannot stand for anything right now, _mon ami._ ”

"Fuck off," England seethed, pinpricks started at his fingertips at the same time as black dots appeared in his vision. He took a deep breath closing his eyes. Anytime he tried or accidentally used his magic that happened.

“I’ll get someone to take you back,” France said, voice full of steel. England could hear his footsteps receding. He was left alone for a moment, the sounds of the city of London drifting across the grounds.

***

America woke up with a crick in his neck and a warm weight against his chest. They were tangled in blankets on the floor of England’s bedroom. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and remembered why. England had come back to him filled with requests. They’d managed to crack one of the posts of the bed, causing the canopy to tilt dangerously, but England had told him to keep going. When the second post had cracked, they’d moved to the floor. He moved his arm, fingers sinking into England’s hair. England’s breath was still heavy with sleep, but as America touched him he shifted and stretched. “People are surely gonna talk this time,” America teased.

"Whatever do you mean?" England yawned, pressing a kiss to America's chest.

“The construction your room is gonna need after last night.” America’s fingers trailed to the back of England’s neck. “How do you feel?”

"Don't ask those kinds of questions." England slapped at his chest, the embarrassment muddled by the shudder responding to the light touch.

“Why not?” America asked, catching his fingers and lacing them with his own.

"It’s... just don't!" He stuttered, ears turning red.

“Must feel good then.” America kissed his forehead. “We should probably get up. What time is it anyway?”

"I don't care," England murmured. He had no sense of time since he woke up a week ago.

“You are convalescing, right? I guess you don’t have to.” America smiled, an amused sound coming from his lips. “Although, we’ll definitely have to get you a new bed so you can rest up. There’s the one in my room."

"We can just leave it and order something to eat."

“Sounds like a plan.” America snuggled him for another few minutes before getting up to pull the bell. It was then that the telephone in the parlor began ringing. “I’ll get it.” He picked up his discarded underclothes, tugging them on and soon the ringing stopped, followed by a loud ‘hello’. England listened. “I’m not leaving him yet, that’s it.” The phone went down with a clunk and the jangle of the bell.

"Who was that?" England pulled himself up onto his elbows with a frown.

“My ambassador.” He got back down beside him. “I took care of it.”

"Are you not supposed to be here?"

America turned and looked at him. “I had come to look over how Lend-Lease was getting run by Mr. Harriman. Then you were awake. I told you, I wanted to stay as long as possible.”

“You’ve only been here for a few days, how can they be bitching already?”

“Because I didn’t exactly check in with anything before coming straight here and I was AWOL for a while before that.” He wrapped an arm around England’s waist.

"What the hell have you been doing!?" England stared up at him.

America looked up at the ceiling. “I was here as often as I could be when you were asleep and when I wasn’t... well, I made some visits to some other nations and then went off to see what my people were feeling about the war. I don’t know what my boss is waiting on.”

“Bedroom,” England huffed and pointed to his silver case on the bedside table before repeating, “Bedroom.”

America sighed and got up to get England his cigarettes. He held up the lighter for him until a puff of smoke came through. “I know.”

"Why the sigh?" England frowned.

“It’s nothing.” America lay his head on England’s stomach.

"Either it’s something that breaks bedroom rules or you’re lying to me." Smoke rings drifted to the ceiling.

“It’s...” America lay his hand on England’s chest, fingers tracing swirls. “Bedroom.”

"Then don't think about it... I won’t have you upset here," England chided.

America turned his face for a moment, pressing against England’s skin. Then he pulled back. “All right. I’m all yours, babe.”

England snorted. “When have you ever not been?” His expression was cocky.

“I feel like I should take exception to that.” America pushed up on his elbows to lean over him. “Make you pay for it.” He grinned.

England took a drag before exhaling a plume into his face. “I let you use my body for years, isn't that enough?”

“You know me. I want everything. Can’t ever get enough.” 

“At least you admit to being a glutton.” England pinched at his ass. “Although as long as it keeps this then that's fine.”

“Like that do you?” America pressed a kiss to the corner of England’s mouth.

“It’s to my taste,” England huffed, offering the cigarette.

“No thanks,” America said, resuming his line down England’s jaw. “You already taste like tobacco.”

"You say that like it's a bad thing," he murmured, tilting his chin back. "Now if I had a brandy in the other hand it would all be perfect."

“We’ll work on that,” America murmured, continuing his trail of kisses down England’s neck.

Reaching down, England tucked his fingers beneath America's chin and shook his head. "No."

America looked at him. “No?”

"No more sex."

A concerned look flashed across America’s face. “Are you hurt? Do you need something?”

"No." He shook his head. "And yes." He ashed his cigarette before pressing a soft kiss to America’s temple. "No more sex right now."

“You can have anything you want.” America settled beside him. He adjusted one of the wayward pillows beneath his head.

“I...” he pressed a kiss to the other temple. “No. Just this.”

America closed his eyes, a soft smile on his face from the affection. He sighed, this time a tone of contentment. He was quiet, just a little furrow between his brows that something was on his mind.

"You’re not going to completely relax unless you talk about it are you?" England heaved a sigh, poking him in the forehead.

“I can’t get what Francis said out of my head.”

"What specifically?”

“That you’re just a warm body to me...” He turned to look up at the ceiling. “And that he wishes someone would hit me.”

"He's just angry. Ignore him."

“Do you think Ludwig would attack me? He’s been pretty careful up to this point. It’s why the u-boats can’t always get at your ships when mine are there.” America paused for a moment. “Where do you think he would strike?”

"I have no idea, Alfred." England shook his head, rolling away to lay on his back.

America was quiet for a moment. His fingers found England’s. It was a quiet brushing, a feathery touch before he gripped England’s hand in his own. “If you heard something you would warn me.”

"Of course, as long as its allowed." He turned to look at America.

“We’re supposed to be in open communication.” America was staring blankly at the ceiling, then he glanced at England and pulled a smile onto his face. “Probably worrying about nothing, huh?”

"Yes." England nodded. "Worrying about things when we are finally together and uninterrupted."

America rolled over so he could press a kiss to England’s shoulder and then lay his head down on the spot. “Yeah.” He closed his eyes, relaxing at England’s side.

"Good," England murmured and stared up at the ceiling. America had gotten his own mind spinning. Something was about to happen. To break. It was war, it always did.

***

_July 12, 1941_

_London, England_

_Buckingham Palace_

“Well, I don’t want to say that I told you so, but I did see this coming.” England’s lips thinned in a tight smile as he stood and shook Russia’s hand over the heavy table in the middle of the conference room.

“And now that it's passed, forget it.” It was more of a grimace than a smile that turned the nation’s mouth at the reminder. It had been a brief phone call, England had obviously been drunk, slipping into what Russia had been later told, Gaelic during some of the fight. England had called him a young fool, telling him he was going to regret siding with the Germans. Russia had ignored him, siding with the younger brother of Prussia, the Tuetonic knight, had seemed the better idea. What Russia had not known was how worried Prussia had been about going up against the United Kingdom, and when things began to turn the German duo also turned on their ally. 

With another grimace as he settled into the tiny chair, Russia’s fingers toyed with the end of his scarf. England could just imagine what was going through his mind. He couldn’t believe he was here. It was embarrassing really. And he didn’t do well with embarrassment. Having this meeting with England was a blow to his ego. The chair creaked as he leaned back heavily, daring the chair to break beneath his large frame. “Worried I’m going to break you weak chair?” he asked, England frowned. Russia’s mouth curved into the smile that wasn’t a smile and it made England uncomfortable. Not to mention... that chair was supposed to be cursed.

“Buxby….no, yes, it’s fine. Tea?” ever the perfect English host the blonde gestured for refreshments to be brought into the room on a silver cart.

***

An illusion. That’s what America saw in the man, Russia thought. Despite the bombings, Russia had been mortified as they traveled through the damage of London, the man put forth a strong front. England hadn’t owned two-thirds of the world with an easy glance and a lazy hand. As much as he loathed the nation sitting across from him, there was a sense of admiration as well. He was a force to be reckoned with. And he was sure, that like all great empires, his fall was going to be spectacular.

“Of course, thank you.” Russia leaned forward to take the hot cup of tea. Even the chinaware seemed thin yet strong. He eyed the lines of the man sitting across from him. Russia was one of the few nations that had not been brought into England’s bed. It made Russia curious. He knew that the Englishman was not fond of him in the slightest, probably because he loved to piss off America, who from the rumors was England’s latest consort. It was a shame that he'd tried so hard to be friends with him in the past. Even sold him Alaska, which had been a bust because the lucky bastard managed to find gold there.

Russia had never desired to experience what the other nations had made fleeting comments about. But there was that slight twinge of irritation at being left out. Why? Did England not consider him good enough to ‘sully’ his sheets or did he see him as too big a threat? He hoped it was the threat option. Oh, that would be funny. A good way to piss off America. It was so much more fun pissing off America than England. England simply flew off the handle, rage and now boundaries. He knew he was powerful and so did everybody else. Yet America, everyone doubted the little upstart just like how they doubted him. But America was strong, yet kept it quiet. The only thing he kept quiet about to be frank. And if rumors had it he had a rather jealous streak. So how much fun would it be to toy with England simply to annoyAmerica? It would give him something to do this afternoon.“So, let’s get started, _da?_ ”

“Of course.” England’s hands smoothed over the papers. “So first off, there is to be a removal of trade and economic blockades between our two nations.”

“I agree,your government needs to allow free naval navigation to all Russian ships, all the same freedoms as the other allies.”

“And the Parliament is more than happy to do that if you agree that both of us release information to the placement of mines so that the ships of both our nations can travel safely.”

“Of course. This must also mean that all passports and documents of identity from our respective nations shall be accepted by each other's government and authorities.”

“Of course” England nodded. The meeting’s progression continued in the same, rather polite, manner as the Anglo-Soviet Agreement continued. As the teapot emptied and the treats were finished, they sat quietly as the ink aired.

“So, the wheelchair?” Russia poked the elephant in the room and England sighed.

“Yes, sometimes walking proves to be an issue. It's much more practical to ignore the facade.” England watched as Churchill and Stalin chatted, an interpreter sitting between them to aid in the conversation.

“Makes sense... so... Are you going to take me to your bed now?” Russia saw no point in, oh how do they say, no point in beating the bush?

“Excuse me?!” England’s mortified expression told the whole story. England had never considered it and he really only had one nation as his consort at the moment.

“Well, yes, we are ally now. Your history shows that you go to bed with most of your allies. So, shall we be retiring to your sheets tonight?”

“Absolutely not! Whatever would, why” The heat in the Englishman's cheeks made Russia grin. Seeing England flustered meant America was going to be livid.

“I want to see what everyone else talks about. A man with many lovers is expected to be talented in the bedroom, right?”

“No, I mean, no, I am not going to sleep with you.” England sniffed. “That is a terribly rude thing to ask!” He shook his head in disbelief, clearly grateful for the appearance of the prime minister. Apparently, things were drawing to an end for the afternoon. An innocent smile crossed Russia’s face. Shame, that would have been a fun game. But there was still time.

***

_August 9, 1941_

_Naval Station Argentia_

_Newfoundland_

America smoothed his hands over the front of his uniform. It was the newer design, the green fabric similar to what it had been during the Great War. Infantry dress uniform. England would be arriving any moment. He hadn’t seen him for weeks and he was both elated and worried. Would things have improved?

This meeting was huge. It was to discuss what the alliance would look like when it was formalized. It was a step forward, even if it was still just talking.

“Good, you look suitable,” Roosevelt said, his son Elliot standing beside his wheelchair.

America grinned. “It’s like it was made for me. Let’s go.”

***

"Winston are we ready?" England looked up from the notes in his lap. They had opted for the wheelchair today over the crutches for comfort’s sake. He hadn’t seen America since June and they’d been so busy there hadn’t been time for a call or even a letter. Even if he’d managed to put pen to paper, the letter would probably still be tangled up in wartime post.

"Yes, yes." Winston nodded, grabbing the handles on his chair as the door opened silently, the hinges recently oiled. They were meeting on the deck of the ship, an opportunity to show the two leaders to the men. "President Roosevelt."

***

President Roosevelt’s son offered him an arm to help him stand as he greeted the Prime Minister. America watched for a moment and then looked at England. He was wearing his dress uniform, too, Army. The green uniform caught the color of his eyes as they met America’s. There was a silence from the humans for a moment and America realized that they were waiting on him. America stepped over and took the handles of Roosevelt’s chair and brought his forward.

“President Roosevelt, you met before, but let me introduce you to Arthur Kirkland, the United Kingdom.” 

Leaning forward England grasped the man's hand firmly with a nod and smile. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you in formal office, Mr. President. I've never forgotten you and your family’s hospitality."

“Knowing who you are makes it that much more of an honor.” He squeezed his hand and then made a gesture to Churchill that they should get to work. Churchill seemed delighted at the event. He quickly usurped America’s place at Roosevelt’s chair. They began moving inside where talks could progress over tables covered in papers with more than a few cigars and drinks. Very little had changed in that tradition over the course of America’s life.

“May I take over?”

"If you would like to." England gestured to the handles with a small smile. He couldn't wait for this to be over.

“Hi,” America said, reaching out for England’s hand.

"Hello, love." He watched as the prime minister and the president disappeared into the office and took America’s hand in return. "About time you came back."

America squeezed his fingers. “I was working on this. We’re almost at the finish line. I think anyway.”

"I wished I shared your optimism." England shook his head.

“They’re in the same room talking. Do you want to go in?”

"Not just yet, no." He shook his head again. 

“I’m sure there are some nooks and crannies on this battleship we could hide in.”

"We are alone for this moment, Alfred,”England whispered.

America reached for the back of another chair and pulled it over so he could be eye level with him. “You’re right, sweetheart.” He used his grip on England’s hand to roll him close until their knees touched. “You look stronger than the last time I saw you.” America brushed his fingers over a fading bruise near England’s wrist, revealed by his sleeve.

"Of course I am." England nodded with a half smile. “The sun never sets on the British Empire."

“You always remind me.” America smiled and leaned towards him, kissing him softly.

"I will never let you forget," he murmured against America’s mouth, before pulling the other into a deeper kiss, a sigh escaping him.

“I can’t wait until you can stand again,” America whispered against his lips. “Then I can sweep you off your feet.”

"You are a fool!" England swatted at his chest. "Where do you get this stuff from!?"

“You need to come to the movies with me more.” He leaned over the chair, kissing England again.

"That is very random." England tilted his head back, willing, a small noise escaping him, fingers tapping their way along America’s rib cage.

“Nah, just a fact. Then you’d know that I have good romance writers.” He drew out the kiss and pressed his forehead against England’s. “And if we’re gonna get any work done...”

"I suppose we should head in then?"

"Yes, you should." Winston's voice sounded from the doorway.

America felt the heat rise in his cheeks and he stepped away from England. They had never been outright caught, at least by anyone other than England’s servants. “Yeah, well,” he cleared his throat, “we were just coming.”

Churchill waved his hand in dismissal. "I was debriefed about all of this when I took office. None of this is a surprise, just hurry up." He ducked back into the room and England snorted.

"Winston. Old coot."

America rubbed at the flush on his cheek. “He could have said something earlier. How long do you think he was there?” He stepped around England to take hold of his chair and began pushing him towards the door.

"Probably just showed up. Don't worry." He patted his hand in amusement.

“My boss doesn’t _know_ know about us.”

England's hand went rigid. "Excuse me?"

“He’s never asked if I was involved with any other nations. It’s not in my dossier. I guess I’ll have to tell him.”

England turned to glance up at him before looking forward and nodded. "I... well, let's get this started."

The meeting was cordial, long talks about the coordination effort that could begin at any time. It was a show of what could be coming down on the Axis powers should Congress decide and declare war in the coming days. As the day went on, America began to feel edgy and he wasn’t sure what was causing it. Something at the back of his mind throughout the entire day. The conversations were painfully hypothetical. Still waiting for some unknown event that would change their minds.

***

"Shall we break for the evening gentlemen?" England set down his teacup and the clock chimed four songs. "It’s 1600 and I don't know about yourselves, but I am rather spent." He glanced around the room approving of the nods that he received. He glanced at America. The boy had been off all day and he was certain he wasn't the only one who sensed it.

As the room emptied, America leaned back in his chair. It was then an aide came into the room. A note in his hand. America took the paper and straightened in his seat. “That son of a...”

Folding his hands over his belly England raised a brow and cleared his throat. "Yes?"

America frowned at the paper. “Kiku isn’t going to get away with it anymore. I told him to stop and he’s still going.” He offered the paper. “He tells me we can be friends and then goes off and gets sneaky.” The paper had a few notes from China and a map of a rapidly expanding Japanese empire.

"I would say I am surprised but that would be lying," England admitted.

“I can’t believe he took Ludwig’s side. He must have promised him a lot.” America put his fist down on the table. “He’s not going to like it, but I told him.”

"I am not surprised at all. I've known Kiku for a while now."

“You expected him to go after Taiwan and Vietnam? How long until he goes after Hong Kong and Singapore? Jett even.”

England heaved a sigh. "I'll take him down." Leaning back in his chair he dragged his hands through his hair in frustration. Having to deal with everything from all fronts was starting to create a real strain.

“No, he’s pushing me. I’m gonna take care of it. After all, he thinks I’m not going to do anything.” America grimaced. “I told him I would seize his assets in my country and put an embargo on oil and steel. Gonna have to do it now.”

"Really?" England couldn't hide his surprise.

“I have lands to protect in the Pacific, too.”

"I suppose," England murmured, pulling his watch from his pocket. "It’s getting late."

America stared at the tabletop for a moment and then turned a smile towards him. “Is that code for get me out of here and have your way with me?”

England snorted. "I'm not a corner gal. You have to wine and dine me, Master Jones."

“How about some beer and some burgers? I said I was going to get you one.” He stood up and took hold of England’s chair. “We can forget about this stuff until tomorrow.”

"Yes, please," England breathed. "That sounds lovely."

America leaned over him and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. He took him down a hall and then another. “It gets kind of narrow from here. Do you think you can walk a little?”

“Yes.” England nodded with a swallow. America came around and helped him up. He kept hold of England’s elbows as he steadied himself.

“Easy,” he said, as England stumbled into his chest.

"I haven't even tried this without crutches, sod off!" England slapped at his chest and gripped his shoulders.

“Then lean on me. It’s not far.” He hooked an arm around England’s waist.

"Where are we going?"

“I commandeered some space where no one will bother us.” He helped England along, resisting the urge to scoop him up in his arms. He knew England could manage it. “After the meeting, I was hoping... would you come home with me? Just for a few days and then you can be off wherever you need to go.”

"I," England smiled. "I would love that."

America was surprised. He’d expected some words about duty and how he was trying to take England from it. He felt warmth spread through his chest and picked him up after all. Kissing his cheek, America brought him around another bend and opened a hatch. It must have been a crew quarters, but the hanging bunks had been removed in favor of the larger space. A table was stacked high with wrapped hamburgers and a large basket of fries.

"Shit, Alfred. Who do you expect to eat all of this?" England eyed the table in mild horror.

“Whatever you don’t eat I’ll finish. I’ve been really hungry lately. I think it might be the factories, we’re speeding up production.” He helped England to a chair and put five burgers in front of him. “It’ll help.”

"I can't eat five of these!" England protested. "No one should eat five of these!"

“Five is just a snack,” America said. He sat down in the other chair and had already taken a large bite out of one of the remaining.

"A snack?" England stared at him. "Do not tell me you eat like this on a regular basis!"

Confusion washed over America. “I always ate more than you. And I’m hungrier than ever.” He finished off the first with another bite and started on the next. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

"I... yes." England nodded and took the top one from the top of the pile and pushed the others back to the middle of the table. Unwrapping his slowly he watched in mild horror as America practically inhaled his.

America was probably half a dozen in when he remembered the beer and poured England a glass. “What?” he asked, seeing England’s face.

"How is that even possible?" Englsnf shook his head in disbelief.

“I told you, I’ve been really hungry. Like I can’t get enough.”

"Really?" He sipped at his beer, eyeing the other.

“It’s probably because of all the stuff I’ve been building. I have to make enough for me and you, darling.” America looked up at him after wadding up the paper from his seventh burger. He gave him a grin. He’d drawn out the last world, ‘dah-lin’, the twist of a southern accent in the vowels.

"You ass," England murmured and looked around the table. "Where's the silverware."

“What do you need silverware for?”

"To eat." He gestured at the fries and burger.

“Just use your hands, it’s easier.”

England's nose wrinkled. "I... my people have come far from that." He sighed and leaned forward, dragging a fry through a pile of ketchup.

America reached into the basket himself. “Food gets made fast, can get eaten even faster. Leaves time for other things. It’s progress.”

"Or perhaps you slow down and enjoy things." England frowned. "Not everything is a race."

“Savor away, babe.” America smiled at him, leaning back in his seat. “Although, it wouldn’t be proper if you didn’t eat it with your hands.”

"You do realize how backward that sounds?' England snorted, lifting his beer.

“And back when we had to have six spoons just to eat dinner was better?” America teased.

"When we had? We still do." England sniffed in indignation.

“Only for really swanky dinner parties,” America said. He pushed another burger towards England. “It’s good for you.”

"I'm full, but thank you." He shook his head.

America finished off another one and then reached over and pulled England’s chair towards him. It squeaked on the floor, and England had to put out a hand to steady himself on America’s shoulder. “In that case, your boss won’t be nosey enough to follow us in here, will he?”

"I-no- why?" He stared at the other.

“Because that means I can do this without any interruption.” He leaned in, kissing England gently. “I’ve missed you.”

"I-" England stammered in embarrassment. "Uh... yes. I garnered that."

“Blushing isn’t fair. You make me want to...” America wiped his hands on his pants before reaching up to hook his fingers under England’s chin. “Did you miss me?”

"I... don't ask invasive questions." England couldn't meet his eyes.

America smoothed his fingers against England’s jaw, his face becoming serious. “We’re close, Arthur, I’ll be there soon. You won’t have to shoulder it all on your own.” He gave him a small smile. “I’m already bracing myself for how much you’re going to argue with me over command.”

England arched a brow. "It’s not going to be an argument. We both know who's in charge."

“Yeah, me. One of my generals is probably going to be in charge of the Combined Chiefs of Staff. I’ll knock Ludwig out and the war will be over.”

"No, boy, the one who is in charge will stay in charge." England scoffed.

“See, already arguing.” America chuckled, his fingers still on England’s cheek. “We’ll work it out later.” He shrugged.

"Or I'll remind you whose in charge," England threatened, voice low, a grin crawling onto his face as he had an idea. "Too bad I left everything at home."

“Is that a threat or a promise?” America replied, not looking concerned at all.

"I'll let you decide," England hummed leaning back.

“I’ll think about which I want it to be, but we’ll have to save it until we’re not on ship anymore anyway.” He leaned over the gap and pressed a kiss to the corner of England’s mouth. “You might want to remind Winston that he met FDR before, otherwise it’s gonna be a thing.”

"I'm too busy getting ready to remind someone else something to do that." He turned to steal a full kiss, fingers fisting in the hair at the nape of his neck. America made a happy noise into the kiss, pushing into it and his hand going to England’s waist.

"Home, now," England murmured.

“We’d have to be invisible to sneak past everyone to get on land. But I’m willing to risk it. More comfortable than a berth anyway.” He helped England up out of the chair and they started back down the winding hallways of the ship. It took longer than it needed to be but eventually they were making their way out of the ship and out into the car. It took a couple of sharp words and even some threats from England and then they were whizzing away to one of America's houses.

"Leave the chair in the car, I can use the crutches," England hummed as they pulled into the drive.

“Won’t even need that,” America said. He got out to open the garage and then pulled inside. After the door was slammed down, he came back to the car and scooped England out of the front seat into his arms.

"I don't want to be carried the entire time," England protested as America carried him into the house and up the stairs.

“I’ll get them later.” America said as he edged his way into his bedroom. He sank down on his mattress, bringing England with him.

"Oh come on, Alfred," England murmured, pressing a kiss to his pulse. “I've got things in my bag and once we've started do you really want to have to leave?" He pressed his palm against America’s lower belly.

“What’s so important in your bag?” America whined. “We’ve already started.”

"You'll see." England pulled his hands away and held them as if at gunpoint. "Come now. My smokes are in there as well."

America offered a theatrical sigh worthy of a Hollywood picture. “Fine, I’ll be right back.” He pressed a kiss promising so much to England’s mouth and hurried down the stairs.

"Young nations have so much energy." England flopped back against the bed, stretching with a groan. His back popped and he heaved a sigh, eyes sliding shut as he relaxed. Relaxing was one thing, but letting his guard down was another.

The creak on the floorboard was a surprise so soon after America left. “What did you do, sprint” He opened his eyes, but it was the wrong blond-haired, blue-eyed nation in the room. He had about three seconds before hands wrapped around his throat and was dragged to the floor. "Hell..." he croaked, spots dancing across his vision as his head cracked against the floorboards, his windpipe being crushed. Struggling for breath, nails drawing blood from the hands that closed off his hair, England stared up at his assailant. "L-lud-wig?" he croaked out.

" _Ja._ " Eyes focused on him, eyes that had once been ice blue were now a shadow of their former glory. Barely a sliver of blue around black pupils blown wide, surrounded by bloodshot veins. He was high on something. The young German nation stared down at him with a blank expression. "I 'vas vondering how long it vould take for you to leave London and go where I could get my hands on you."

"Ass," England wheezed, the heavy heels of his boots thudding against the floor uselessly. His legs didn't have enough strength for this yet and Germany seemed to know it. His large hands tightened their grip, England coughing in vain. How long had Germany been on America’s lands? Just waiting?

"You don't know how long I've wanted to do this. The only power that is in my way. Once you're out of the picture Europe will fall like a house of cards.” He pulled England from the floor only to slam him back into it, again and again. England felt the warmth at the back of his head and his vision blurred. There was a crack and pain laced up England’s hip.

England heard a crunch as spots began to dance in front of his eyes. Air flooded his lungs as he gasped for air, hearing glass shatter on the other side of the room. He pushed himself up, seeing America slam his fist into Germany’s stomach.

"This is none of your business!" Ludwig grunted, his fist clipping America's chin with a snarl.

“You’re on my fucking soil, you’re making it my business! First you start attacking my fucking ships and then you come after Arthur? No!” America caught the next swing, his hand tightening on Germany’s wrist, pain flashing across the other’s face.

"He's the enemy," Ludwig grunted, eyes focusing on England. "He needs to die!"

“Why are you here?!” America demanded, shoving Germany into the dresser, the wood splintering against his back.

"Taking him down!" Germany snarled, combat boot catching America’s hip, knocking him back. The tallest blond pulled a gun and darted for England who was still lying on the floor.

Germany thudded to the floor as America slammed into the middle of his back. The pistol clattered as it hit the wood. “Try it again and your brothers are going to be picking up the pieces of you!” America’s face was hard as he pinned him against the floor.

"Fuck you, Alfred!" He snarled. "Let me go! I'm gonna kill him!" His crazed gaze zeroed in on England. "Fucking piece of British shit! You think I'm done with you!? I'm gonna bomb you until there's nothing left of your weak corpse! You're going to burn! Burnt down until the British Empire ceases to exist! I am going to end you!"

“And I’ll leave you to Ivan if you try it! You want to surrender to him or me?” America growled. “If you touch Arthur again, you’ll be sorry.” America looked up at England. “Arthur, hand me the gun.”

"No." England shook his head.

“Arthur?” Confusion washed over America’s face. “It’ll slow him down.”

"Let him go, Alfred." England touched the back of his head, pulling his hand away at the wetness. Blood. "Let him go."

“He just tried to kill you!” America had to struggle to keep his hold on the other, catching him around the throat with one arm.

"Look at him. He is on something, let him go." England shook his head as Germany threatened him in German.

Germany made a strangled sound as America tightened his hold. “It doesn’t matter if he’s on drugs. He’s hurting you, hurting other people!”

"Alfred. Let. Him. Go."

America stared at him, struggling with the request. “Can you get to the phone in my office? Ring his embassy, tell them to come pick up his sorry ass. Then they can close up shop and get the hell out of here.”

"Alfred, let him go. Come help me," England pleaded.

America’s face was torn. Then his grip loosened as he pulled Ludwig to his feet. “Get out of my house.” He shoved him towards the door.

"Fuck you A-" He looked to be making another attempt to get to Arthur when his face went slack and he hit the floor like a dead weight.

America stared at him for a moment and then walked over, nudging him with his foot. “Not dead.”

"Alfred!"

He came to England and got down on the floor beside him. “Shit...” He touched the bruises that were already forming on England’s neck.

"You need to call the hospital so that he can get taken care of." He flinched. "Ouch!"

“I’m taking care of you first.” He pulled open his drawer and grabbed a bandana, pressing it to the back of England’s head.

"Not so rough!" England gasped, blinking rapidly as dots covered his vision. "Alfred..."

“I’m calling for an ambulance. Yell for me if he wakes up.” He stepped over Ludwig and England could hear him speaking on the phone a moment later.

"Dammit. The intelligence was right. The German nation is on something," England murmured, laying back down on the floor, wincing. Germany must have broken his leg.

England’s consciousness faded out, coming to in the bright light of a hospital room. He felt stiff, a bandage wrapped around his head and a brace around his neck. America startled out of his seat. “You’re awake.” He looked frazzled, his clothes still rumpled from the fight, blood on the cuffs of his shirt.

"Why am I here?" England pulled at the brace. "Get me out of here."

America reached forward to loosen the brace and took it carefully off him. “You passed out. I can take you home after they clear you... but we’re going deeper. Ludwig wouldn’t have found you if...” He trailed off seeing someone in the hall. “Gilbert!” He was up and out of the chair and into the hallway in an instant. England could see through the doorway that Prussia was now arguing with America.

"Both of you get in here, now!" England ordered from his bed, pulling out his IV.

“Arthur, stop, you’re going to hurt yourself.” America was back, pushing gauze into the crook of England’s elbow.

“We were coming to speak to you, Alfred, I didn’t think he would do this!” Prussia insisted. He looked exhausted, his eyes more tired than England had ever seen them.

"So, the stories about the government supplying drugs to the German people is true then, Gilbert? I know a junkie looks like and Ludwig is a dead ringer!" England struggled to sit up.

America propped him up, half sitting on the bed. “Is that true?”

“I..." Gilbert looked away before sitting on the edge of the bed with a hard sigh. " _Ja._ "

“What is going on over there?” Anger mixed with worry laced America’s voice.

_“Hildebrand chocolates are always a delight,”_ Gilbert quoted an ad with a scowl. "Pervitin. It started out as a drug to help night shift nurses, hard laborers and university students to stay awake. Now it’s so common that it's sold in chocolate packages on the shelf. Fourteen mil of methamphetamines in each portion. Recommended four of them a day." He shook his head"’Germany Awake.’" He sighed. "People stay awake until they collapse because their bodies literally can't handle it anymore."

“And people are just going along with it? You don’t look strung out.”

"I technically don't exist anymore. My kingdom was overthrown in the revolution and my republic ended eight years ago," he said dryly. "And do you know how power works, Alfred? The human mind’s nature is to crave and if not achieved then submit. The pack mindset."

“He tried to kill Arthur tonight, in _my_ house.” America frowned.

"Arthur can’t die that way." Gilbert shrugged. "He'd be fine."

“So if I had put a bullet in your brother tonight would you still feel that way? That wouldn’t have killed him either.”

"Fine, fine,"Gilbert muttered.

"Alfred, don't be crass," England murmured placing his hand on America's arm.

“He’s making this personal.”

"I don't know how Luddy got into your country without you realizing it." Prussia frowned. "We always feel when another nation touches our territory."

“There’s a lot of nations coming in and out. I was a little preoccupied.”

"I guess you are 'technically' a neutral nation." Prussia made quotation marks with his fingers. “However, this scene is not very neutral.”

"Gilbert," England scolded and the german flipped him off. Spitting something at him in a dead language and England stared in shock before spitting right back.

“Anything more like that and I won’t be neutral anymore,” America said, glaring at the older nation.

"I am not doing anything." Prussia frowned.

“Ludwig did. He attacked someone in the American defense zone. I have a right to protect whatever I want within my sphere of influence.”

"Everyone knows you aren't completely neutral. And here I hoped that you had more spirit than that. You’re still a colony, Alfred, when you act like this." America frowned, fingers tightening. England gripped his arm in warning.

“Then why haven’t you declared war on me?”

"We don't have that kind of time."

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

"There are bigger fish to fry." Prussia leveled his gaze on England who stiffened, green eyes narrowing.

“Idiot.” America scoffed. “You think I haven’t learned anything since 1781?”

"Why would we bother going across the ocean when he can focus closer to home."

“Or you don’t have the strength to fight me too.”

"Whatever you would like to think." Prussia shrugged. It happened in a split second. He had had much more practice than Germany. The crack of a pistol sounded near in time with the red that blossomed across England's chest. " _Heute Deutschland, morgen die Welt!_ "

“Arthur!” America’s fingers went to the wound, trying to staunch the blood. He turned to try and go after Prussia, but England clung to him. “Arthur...” Doctors rushed in.

"Let them go!" England gasped. "Stay with me."

“I’m here.” Tears pricked at the edges of America’s eyes. “Arthur...”

"I'm fine, I knew this was going to happen," England promised as a doctor moved America out of the way.

“How?”

"Gilbert told me, the last time we talked, that the next time he saw me he would have to shoot me." His expression personified irony. "So this was no shock although I thought it would be safe h-" He seized and a doctor shoved America from the room.

"Out, out, out! You are in the way!"

***

America looked down at the blood on his hands in the empty room as everyone rushed out with England to a surgery. He was shaking. Clenching his fists, he walked out into the hall. “Mr. Jones, you need to sit down,” said a nurse, trying to rein him in.

“Where is Ludwig Beilschmidt’s room?”

“He was discharged.”

“How? He attacked Mr. Kirkland!” America said and then the realization hit him like a blow. They would have diplomatic immunity. Technically, he couldn’t even hold them as spies. Fury roared through him and he stepped away, turning from the people gathering to go... somewhere. He needed to stay, but he couldn’t face them. “Arthur...”

***

"I demand that someone get me a decent cuppa somewhere around here!" England demanded as they finished checking his vitals. He had woken an hour ago and hadn't seen America since he woke.

“Arthur...” America was standing in the doorway. He looked dreadful, still in the clothes England had last seen him in. Relief spread across his face and he was at England’s side in a moment, burying his face against the blanket covering England’s legs. “I... those dirty bastards cheated. I should have...” His shoulders hunched as a wave of stress seized him and cut off his words.

Everyone in the room froze until England looked up. "Everyone out and don’t return without a decent cup of tea or so help me I'll start a diplomatic incident!" He bellowed and they scattered, the door closing behind them. England looked down at America quietly and touched his hair "Alfred..."

“I still can’t do anything. My boss says it’s not enough to sway Congress. You should have let me shoot him. It’s that damn u-boat attack in the north Pacific all over again...”

"No. You couldn't have, you're neutral."

“Gilbert’s right, I’m not. Not really. I would have let you pummel him if you could have. I’ve already helped.”

"Alfred, stop," England murmured. "Stop beating yourself up over something you can't change."

“I’m not allowed to beat up anyone else. I want to destroy him.”

"That is enough, Alfred Jones." England's tone was sharp.

“You thought you would be safe here and... they used my neutrality to attack you.”

"Look at me," he ordered. America leaned up, wiping at his face with his dirty sleeves. His eyes met England’s, the self-flagellation evident in his eyes.

"There is nothing for you to beat yourself up about. I forbid it. It would have happened somewhere else if it hadn't happened here. If you want to spend a load of time being miserable about things you could not help rather than enjoy the little bit of remaining time we have together then you can go home! Do you understand?!"

“What did he say to you in the dead language?” America asked. England stared at him for a moment, looking away.

"It’s nothing. Forget about it. I don’t want to talk about any of this right now."

“Will I hurt you if I get in bed with you?”

"Probably, but-" He patted the bed. "Please do."

America climbed up, pressing his body against England’s. He was as careful as he could be of England’s wounds as he took his hand in his own, twining their fingers together. He pressed a kiss to his hair. “I love you.”

England hummed, tensing before relaxing against the other. "Winston was here when I woke up."

“What did he say?”

"We are going back home…" England sighed before adding quietly. "And Parliament and the Royal Family have decided I am not allowed to come back to American soil until after the war..."

“If we’d stayed on the ship... you would have been safe.” He smoothed his fingers between England’s.

"It would have happened anyways," England protested.

“But... it still happened in my house. Showing me that they can get at you here, too.” America pressed his face against England’s hair, breathing him in. “To keep us apart.”

"I mean I wouldn't go that far..."

“If you can’t be on American soil, that limits our ability to negotiate about our efforts. And potentially isolate you further.” America knew England had said not to talk about it right now, but it was all he could think about. He’d been interrupted with a call from Japan who claimed he wanted to speak as friends about the current situation between them. America had tried, but Japan had to know something was off. He’d ended the call as soon as he could. “How long do we have?”

"We shall figure it out... and for the rest of the visit we are to act like nothing has happened."

America was quiet for a moment and England sighed, sure he was about to get into an argument. “I’ll try, but... I’m not going to be leaving your side for a moment.”

"I never asked you to," England murmured reaching up to touch the apples of America’s cheeks. "I want every second I can have."

“You’ve got it,” America said, his voice not fully convincing.

"What's wrong?" England frowned.

“Nothing, I just...” He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against England’s. “If you can, I want you to tell me about why Gilbert... just why, okay?”

"What do you mean why?"

“Was it personal? Or just war?”

"War."

“Okay,” America said, but he didn’t seem convinced. “Do you think you are ready to be moved?”

"If you increase the drugs."

“I can swipe some morphine on the way out.”

"No, like now." An edge took over England's voice, “He shot me and broke my leg, gave me a concussion and... I had another seizure after I was taken out of the room and I cracked two ribs... normally nothing to think about, but I'm still healing from the blitzkrieg."

“Okay.” America climbed off the bed and went after a nurse in the hallway. It wasn’t long until someone came back with a needle.

"Perfect," England murmured, extending his arm immediately. He didn’t blink as the large needle slipped into his arm. "Thank you," he sighed as the woman left. He grinned at the other. "Although you will probably get scolded by the time she checks my file."

America eyed him. “Did you just trick me to get more meds?”

England smiled sleepily. "I do need them but the last lady told me I had doubled my dose already."

America sat down on the edge of the bed. “You know this stuff can make you do and say things.”

"Such as?" He yawned.

“I don’t know, I’ve never needed it. Just heard stories.”

"You should know better than that." He reached out to stroke Alfred's forearm.

“Than what?”

"To listen to stories."

America gave him a small smile. “So I shouldn’t listen to you then?”

"Fuck off." England gave him the finger.

Catching his hand, America held onto him. “I’d rather fuck you, but we’re gonna have to wait now.” His playful expression wavered a little, betraying just how worried he was over England’s condition.

"Stop overreacting." England frowned, slumping against the pillows.

“You’re a terrible patient.”

"I am not. I am a perfect gentleman."

“And every gentleman I ever met was trouble in a lot of ways.” America reached out and touched England’s cheek. “Sleep, babe, I’ll get you out of here.”

"Promise?" He struggled to keep his eyes open.

“I promise.”

***

When England awoke he knew America had done it, despite the darkness of the room. The bed was warm and soft, America sleeping lightly beside him. His arm rested loosely on England’s waist. England listened, trying to place where they’d gone. It was quiet, only the sleepy sounds of cattle and the rustling of wind through plants. America had brought him out into farmland and England couldn’t be sure how deep or how long he had slept.

"Alfred," England murmured, rolling onto his side to prod the other awake. He was feeling much better than he had been.

America didn’t stir at first, but after a few more gentle prods he snapped awake. He looked around in the darkness for a moment, as if he was making sure they were still safe and alone. He lay back down and touched England’s hair. “How are you?”

"Surprisingly well for all things considered."

“You did sleep for a while. Two days.”

"Excuse me?" England shot up in disbelief wincing at the ache of protest in his hip.

“Woah, careful.” America sat up and let England lean on him so that the pain could ease. “They’re continuing the discussion. My boss filled me in.”

"Where are we?" England could vaguely see the beadboard walls and a few small frames. The window was open, red checkered curtains blowing gently in the night breeze.

“In Iowa. I figured they wouldn’t come so far inland to get to you. That, and people would notice if a bunch of Germans were poking around town.”

"Iowa…" England leaned back against the bed. "Odd. Never thought I would come here."

“Welcome to the Heartland,” America said. He settled down beside England. “After the war, I can show you lots of places you’ve never been.”

"Out west." England rolled over to look at him.

“Sure thing. We can go horseback riding in the Canyonlands.” He took England’s hand in his own. 

"Where else?" A small smile lifted his mouth at the thought.

“Go to the edge of the Grand Canyon and stay at the Bright Angel Lodge. Watch the sunrise. Could even go to the Phantom Ranch on the Colorado.”

"Yellowstone?"

“We can go there too. Tour the hotels. Roosevelt also made the Jackson Hole National Monument recently near the Grand Tetons. I don’t think I’ve taken you there.”

"That sounds lovely," England sighed, reaching out for America. "Come here.”

“We’ll go play cowboy.” America scooted closer, letting England nestle himself against his side. “Go fishing.” He pressed his lips against England’s forehead.

"You'll dress up again?" England looked up to press a soft kiss on his mouth. And another. "Hm?"

“Miss my cowboy get up do you?” America smiled, meeting each kiss with one of his own. His fingers slid up England’s arm to cup his cheek.

"Maybe." England shrugged, relaxing into the other as he stole another kiss. "Why? Does that mean you'll do it?"

“Maybe not my Wild West Show costume, not unless I’ll be doing a parade or rodeo.” His fingers curled along England’s jaw.

"Oh, I can give you a rodeo," England breathed, fingers sliding over America's ribs gently.

“Then I guess I’ll need my old pair of chaps. Probably in my attic somewhere.” It was America’s turn to steal a kiss.

“I don't think they'll fit.”

“Why not?”

"Well, you have it put on a bit of weight, love."

“I guess I was kind of skinny in the 1890s, but this is all muscle, sweetheart.”

England snorted and pinched at America’s belly. "I beg to differ."

“It’s from the winter.”

"Someday you'll just have to accept your chubby, love." England grinned.

“Am not,” America complained, tucking his face against England’s neck.

"Are too. And I like it." England hummed, reaching around to grope at his ass to prove his point.

A soft gasp. “You must be feeling better.” America smiled against his skin and then his lips brushed England’s pulse. He grunted as England pinched him. “That’s not fair,” he laughed.

"Perhaps." He snorted. "Although if you want any of that you’ll have to do most of the work."

“Still game, huh?” He tucked his fingers beneath England’s chin and gave him a teasing kiss.

Pressing another soft kiss against his mouth, America said, “What do you want?”

"What I always want."

“Let me check your wounds first, okay?”

"That's sexy," England's response dripped with sarcasm.

“You starting to bleed all over the bed would be too,” America replied, rolling his eyes. “It’s for your own good.” He rolled England onto his back, reaching for the bandages. He leaned over and clicked on the light so that he could see. The soft glow showed dark circles under America’s eyes.

"Alfred, what's going on?"

“Protests. My boss extended the recruitment laws. A standing military hasn’t really ever been a popular idea.” He shrugged. “No one is happy no matter what happens or doesn’t

happen.” The bandages loosened around England’s chest. America smoothed his hand over England’s skin. While still red it had already begun to heal over, America paused, leaning forward to inspect the bullet wound.

"Love..." England reached up and touched his face.

America looked back at him and offered him a lop-sided smile. “Don’t worry, I’m not hearing voices in my head.”

England paused at that and searched his eyes for any shift in color. "Are you sure?"

“Really sure. And I can remember where I am.” His hands smoothed over England's chest again. “Does that hurt?”

It twinged. "No."

America leaned over him, pressing a soft kiss to England’s chest, a light touch. “Okay.”

"You're really okay?" England couldn't help but ask one more time.

America smiled at him softly. “Yes, sweetheart.”

"Good, good," England murmured and reached up pressing a soft kiss to his mouth.

America leaned up, tugging his pajama shirt off over his head and then returning to the kiss.

"Alfred..." England murmured into the kiss, hands fluttering tiredly over the other’s collarbone and down his shoulders, biceps, forearms and fingers. America’s fingers curled around his own. He seemed just as tired, but determined all the while to offer England as much affection as he could take.

“I don’t want to take you back.” England wasn’t quite sure if he’d heard the words. They weren’t in the bright confidence that usually possessed, but an older voice. The young and stubborn one that was determined to make the world spin the way _he_ wanted it to, regardless that it was impossible.

"You have to," England sighed, pulling back to look up at him.

“I know I have to, but I don’t want to. Not until I can follow you.” The corners of his mouth turned down. “They’re still talking, but my boss is telling me not to get my hopes up... But I don’t want to talk about that. It’s just you and me for tonight, ‘kay?”

England agreed and America fell into the easy affection that told him more than England would ever say. They fell asleep in each other’s arms, but America found himself startling awake. He peered at the clock. It was still a few hours until dawn. He’d only been asleep an hour. His skin was a little sticky from his sweat and England’s body was pressed up against his own, hands curled against his chest. America pressed a kiss to his forehead and slowly settled England against the blankets. England didn’t stir, his body still exhausted and healing.

America pushed off the bed, pulling on his boxers. He sat on the edge of the bed a moment, looking down at the discolored rug underneath his feet. He couldn’t remember how old it was anymore. Thoughts of the war had stuck in every corner of his brain. It sat there on top of everything he did, even if it had nothing to do with preparing for it.

He stood up, feeling restless. He paced around the room for a moment and went to the window, leaning against the wall and pulling aside the curtain. He loosely held a pistol in his hand. He hadn’t been able to let one be out of his reach since Ludwig had broken in.

The cornfield beyond the farmhouse was still. Peaceful. And deep down he was afraid for it. He turned, looking back at England who was breathing evenly in sleep. _I want to be your hero..._

Sighing he went to the kitchen, pulling food from the icebox and lighting the lantern. He’d brought them so far out there wasn’t even electricity. He made the sandwich and couldn’t even taste it as he chewed. Things had to change.

He sat down in the armchair in the living room, pulling some of his papers from his bag. The lantern light danced across the pages. He sat there with the work in his hands and unable to focus on any of it. He’d been threatened before, but he’d never seen another nation react like that before. _We have bigger fish to fry..._ The papers crumpled in America’s hands and he threw them across the room. They fluttered for a moment and then tumbled onto the worn rug. He stared at them.

As the dawn light began to peek in the window he went back to the bed and lay down at England’s side. He brushed his fingers against his cheek. “I love you,” he whispered. England twitched at the touch.

"Love?" His voice thick with sleep.

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart.” He yawned and pressed his face against England’s neck. He smelled like sleep and the slightly antiseptic smell that lingered from the hospital. “There’s no rush.”

"If you say so." England wrapped his arms around the younger, hands slipping into his hair with small even circles. "Stay and sleep this time."

“I thought you were asleep,” America said.

“I got cold and woke for a bit.”

“Do you need another blanket?” America hoped he hadn’t heard the papers falling or the rustling in the kitchen.

“No, you're back."

Wrapping his arms around England, America tried to sleep. He was so tired, but he was nearly afraid to drift off. “Okay.”

"Do you need a draught?"

“I’m not sick. I just... I’m not gonna get the picture out of my mind for a while.” He pressed a soft kiss to England’s neck, hoping it would be reassuring.

"I meant a sleeping draught, boy." England yawned. "What picture?"

“No, I... what put you here.”

"Alfred..." England murmured, the conversation waking him far more than he wanted. "It’s over."

“Not yet,” America muttered. Silence stretched between them and sleep finally dragged him under. It was light, but England could hear the steady sound of his sleeping breaths.

"Still so naive," England murmured, stroking his hair. He couldn't help America with this. This was part of being a nation. Something he had desperately tried to hide from the two young North American nations. He had failed in that regard and there was nothing he could do now except stand by and watch them go. He swallowed, burying his nose in America’s hair. It was going to get worse before it got better. He just didn't know how much worse.

***

When the FBI showed up on the doorstep in the morning, America knew it was over. There was really no choice, but to help England into the car and climb in beside him. They were going back, both with orders to not leave the Naval Station again until negotiations were over. The train station passed in a blur. His fingers rested lightly on England’s as the landscape passed by the train window. They were alone in the car, but soldiers were nearby, making sure no one could enter. They’d been sitting in the station waiting to disembark for the better part of the hour.

“Everyone else either thinks we’re really important or getting sent to lock up,” America joked, trying to lighten the mood.

"I don't appreciate it, regardless, and will be filing a complaint," England huffed, irritation darkening his features.

“It’s me, not you. My boss is probably worried I’m gonna run off again.” He leaned his head back on the seat. “I can’t read the guy sometimes. He didn’t scold me for the Eagle Squadron, but then I get scolded for getting tired of listening to Congress prattle on...”

"I'd say Parliament is better, but that would make me a liar."

“What’s it Churchill likes to say? Worst form of government since the one that came before or something like that.” America chuckled. “I never asked... how are the others that fled? Still in your house or trying to build up their armies?”

England hesitated for a moment. He didn’t want to talk politics just yet. "Kiss me."

America turned and looked at him. He lifted his hand and touched his cheek. Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to England’s mouth. Hand fisting in America’s hair, he ignored the younger’s noise of surprise as he deepened the kiss, tongue twining around the others, coaxing the other into surrendering to him. Reaching behind to grip the back of the seats with a small grunthe only broke the kiss to pull himself into the others lap gracelessly. He silenced the other’s questions with another kiss and touch.

“They’re just outside,” America whispered, gasping as England nipped at the underside of his jaw. He slid his hands over England’s thighs and steadied him in his lap.

"I'm fully aware," England murmured, teeth sinking into his neck, intent on leaving a mark. He had the intent to leave several. A successful grin crawled up his features as America gasped again. "That just means you have to keep it down."

“Didn’t get enough last night, huh?” America grinned, fingers finding the clasps of England’s belt over his uniform coat. It was all England had to wear other than the hospital pajamas that he’d refused to put back on.

"No time for that," England muttered pulling him into another kiss. "We'll have to fuck on the boat tonight... I don't think you've ever done that." He grinned. He had had plans to reduce America into a moaning mess with kisses and bites alone. His pride was inflated at his success. America gripped at the back of his coat posing questions about later with interest. England was dragging his tongue over a bite that was already bruising just under America's ear when the door opened England glanced up. Perfect. Roosevelt was right there, shock across his features as he stared at the pair. England finished dragging his tongue over the bite mark, eyes locked with the president’s as he pulled back to straighten his tie. He was pissed at the man. He had been putting America through so much back and forth and stress. America hadn't even told him about them, yet. The man needed to know that he didn't own the boy. Alfred belonged to Arthur. And the bite mark's would serve as a reminder the rest of the day.

England had to give Roosevelt credit at the poise he exhibited after the shock wore off. He cleared his throat and America nearly jumped to his feet, but England held him fast. His face turned a shade of scarlet that England hadn’t seen in nearly a century. “Mr. President, we were just, uh... discussing politics.” He gave England a look.

“I can see that.” The pause seemed to fill the air with weight. “It appears that a closer relationship is not a request that will be met with any opposition.”

America cleared his throat. “No, sir.”

"How about we wrap up our discussion and meet you onboard, President Roosevelt?" England offered, gesturing to the ship.

“I would ask you to keep it brief.” The door slammed on them.

“Shit. I didn’t want him to find out like that.” America ran a hand through his hair, straightening the strands that had been mussed by England’s fingers.

"Well, what's done is done," England huffed.

“He’s not really a romantic kind of guy.” America smoothed his fingers over England’s cheek. “Are you still going to come to my room tonight?”

"Why wouldn't I?" England frowned. "Nothing has changed. I mean you might be getting pulled aside when we go in, but that's it."

“Yeah, I just... your boss isn’t going to lecture you about propriety or something?”

"Why? It was your president who opened the door on us."

“Because you were snogging me in an armored car?” America began laughing. “I can’t believe my boss just caught us like that!”

"Well, about time!" England sniffed. "And I didn't hear you protesting. It sounded more like begging."

“Preview, sweetheart, for the sounds you are gonna make tonight.” He ran a hand up England’s spine and teased the nape of his neck with his fingers. “I’m double-bolting the door though.”

"Arse." England shuddered, slapping his hand away. "Either you bend me in half right here, right now or we head out."

“Unless you want someone else to catch us with our pants down we better get going.” It took some maneuvering, considering both didn’t really want to let go and kept wanting one last kiss. America helped England into the waiting wheelchair and then carefully avoided the eyes of his president as they made their way back to the conference room.

"This better not take long," England huffed at Churchill as he fell into step beside them.

"It can't. His Majesty has demanded we leave with the morning light." He looked nervously to the president and America before continuing. "He doesn't want us anywhere near here anymore."

“I assure you, Mr. Churchill, I won’t let anything like that happen again,” America insisted. He blamed himself, England could see it.

"The Royal family has decided they’d rather not risk it," he added as England squeezed America’s hand.

"Come now, love, let it go."

America gave him a strained smile. “Franklin, is Congress gonna declare war or not?” America asked. Roosevelt paused for a moment, framing his answer. “Not. Okay.” He yanked the back of England’s wheelchair as he began backing up out of the room.

"Master Jones, where are we going?" England gripped the arms of the chair as Winston whirled around to stare, the guards in the room tensing with uncertainty.

“I need a moment,” America said. “Kirkland and I will return in ten.” His jaw was clenched.

Churchill's eyes flicked to Roosevelt and the guards and then back to England who raised his hand and shook his head. The man frowned and dug a cigar out of his coat pocket. England leaned back and allowed America to pull him from the room, lips pressed.

America pulled him into the small cabin of a lower officer. America closed the door and braced his hands on the frame. “Damn it...”

"Alfred, we knew this was going to happen."

“It doesn’t make it feel any better. I just didn’t want to lose it in there.” He leaned his head against the steel of the door.

"Alfred, come here."

Turning, America came to stand in front of England’s chair.

"No here." England patted his thighs.

“I’m not going to fit,” America said, even as he was trying to lower himself down gently. He was reluctant to put his weight on the other.

"Stop pissing about," England muttered pulling him into his lap covering a wince. "Now, love..." He turned the others face towards him. "It’s not your fault."

“You don’t have to be nice to me.”

"And you don't have to be a tit and yet here we are."

America frowned at him. He sighed and leaned his head on England’s shoulder. “I want to help.”

"I want that too, but you can’t, love."

America felt like he was a racehorse stuck in the gate. All of the energy was waiting to burst out, but he wasn’t allowed to run. He wrapped his arms around England’s neck. “I hate this.”

"I know, love, I know." He pressed a kiss to his forehead.

America held him for a stretch longer and then pulled back. “We should go back in there.”

"Are you sure?"

“No, because what’s the point? I’ll still just be building planes and ships while you’re fighting.”

"Yes... well, we all have to do our part?" England tried.

“I like building stuff, but that’s not my part.”

"Right now it is, love."

America shook his head. “We should go back.”

"Yes, I suppose so." England sighed, running his hand through America’s hair slowly.

America’s eyes met his. “At least we have one more night.”

"I guess there is that." England nodded. "Well, get up let's get this over with."

***

They went back to the room, listening as plans were laid. Yet, there were no declarations. If the alliance ever was complete it would be an unprecedented alliance. They would be closer than any two nations had ever been before. America could feel eyes on him. Normally he didn’t mind, but these had the weight of judgment. England’s people didn’t trust that anything would ever come of it. They’d been talking for years now. His own wanted to know what he was thinking. England sat beside him, his hand a warm weight on his knee.

England watched the time casually as he scribbled down what appeared to be notes on the meeting. If anyone looked closer they would see that whatever he was writing wasn't in english. He was working on a new spell. The meeting was a waste of time anyways, so might as well be productive. Checking his watch England kept an eye on the time, he planned to end the meeting at 1600. His free hand on America's leg squeezed reassuringly.

Resisting the urge to just put his head down on the table, America pulled some papers closer to him and began flipping through them. He frowned at the numbers. It was something he didn’t think England knew. The reason it had taken so long to even provide material for war was that he didn’t have it. Even with the increased production... if he lost any ships, planes... it was going to be hard to recover. He slid the papers back under the folder.

Humming quietly to himself England counted the beats in his spell. "Calm down," he murmured to America, stroking his leg. "It will be over soon."

Turning to look at him, America offered him a tight smile. “Right.” It wasn’t really going to be over, they just wouldn’t have to sit in this room anymore. America looked across the table. Roosevelt was sitting near Churchill, the two men seeming to speak conspiracy with each other even as other diplomats around them spoke of something else. America cared about this president, something that he couldn’t always have said. There had been a few characters in his past that he’d felt indifferent about, but FDR had been his president longer than anyone else. He’d saved him from the bone cracking chills and fevers that the Depression had brought on. He was trying to make sure he had the best possible position to enter the war with and he knew the same numbers America did. _He’s just trying to do what’s best for me..._ Guilt washed over him. _He knew... he just didn’t want me to rush in with a hot head because I love him..._ America glanced over at England who was still absorbed in his papers.

England looked up as the clock on the wall chimed. One more hour. He looked to America and gave him a small smile.

Laying his hand on England’s, he squeezed his fingers gently. He offered him a smile in return, but the realization stirred in his gut. England's smile turned into a frown. That was America’s fake smile. His brow furrowed.

"Let it go," he mouthed.

Worlds filtered through the little bubble that had formed around them. “It’s going to have to be an equal shared command.”

“In the Great War...”

“Our troops were treated as subordinates and our generals were fought every step of the way. We may be the younger nation, but we have fought wars. Equal command is going to be necessary and the overall commander for the operations can be selected from the most qualified men from either military. This will be an Anglo-Anerican operation and to stand up to the tyranny it will require us to be shoulder to shoulder. One cannot stand in front of the other.”

“We’ve been fighting this war on our own and you lot want to be in charge? You haven’t even given us the courtesy of standing beside us yet. You’re happy to take, but we’ve yet to see much come our way.”

“We can’t compromise our own means of defense.”

“Meaning you’re not as powerful as you pretend.”

The two leaders observed the exchange just as closely as the two nations.

"And we are done." England snapped his folder closed. Everyone turned to look at him, the diplomats still frowning and wearing frustrated expressions.

Churchill shared a look with England. He could tell the politician wasn’t done, but he could be left to debate. America’s fingers were tight on his own. “Maybe next time we’ll get ‘er done,” America said, not even trying to be polite. His people’s exasperation was pressing through his skin and he didn’t want to play games anymore. He stood up and the rest of the chairs scraped back as well.

"I don't there is going to be a next time, Master Jones." His voice was cool and all the eyes in the room fell on him. "British men, women, and children have died in their beds from bombing ,been drowned in the ocean because of torpedoes and bombs. Lived in terror in their own homes for 57 days of straight bombing. Men are dying in the air, on the ground and in the water. I have been shot and assaulted on American soil. The American aid in regards to ration aid and the few illegal flight crews and such have been a blessing, yes. But also a disgrace. The American people and government can go home and sleep comfortably at night telling themselves that they have done a good deed and that they are helping their ally, yet it’s utter bullshit. You leave us to fight the war that sits on your doorstep as you hm and ha over it in your offices safe across the ocean. Yet you had two, all but terrorists on your soil the last couple of days and the only one injured was a British citizen so once again you are safe. As such this will be the last meeting until you all decide that you actually care enough for the lives of my people and of those I harbor and fight to protect. Go pretend to be heroes elsewhere. And don't worry the people of the British Empire will remember how long you sat back and watched our children suffer."

They exited to the stunned looks from around the table and didn’t speak as they made their way down the hall. “They’re afraid it’ll happen to us.” America spoke softly, his words not echoing at all in the metal halls.

"And these talks wouldn't be happening if the American forces had stepped up when they should have because Hitler and his radical party would have been put down already."

“Why do you think I’m so tired of the talk?”

"You're not the only one, Alfred!" He snapped.

America stopped, coming around the chair to look at him. Hurt was laced through his blue eyes. “I know. I’m not a total idiot.” His hands hung at his sides.

"I didn't say you were, Alfred," England sighed. pinching his nose.

“I’ve been bending over backwards and... and...” He knelt down so he was eye level with England. “This is going to haunt me. This war... it’s...” He couldn’t seem to put his thoughts to words. He couldn’t lose him and he was afraid to say it aloud anymore. Too many times.

“Alfred, stop,” England grasped his face between his hands. “That’s enough.”

America put his hands over England’s. He gave him a pained smile. “It’s the same argument isn’t it?”

“Exactly, so knock it off,” he said firmly. “I am not going to spend our last couple hours together like this.” He hesitated. “I don’t know when we will see each other again.”

“Then let’s make it count.” He stood up slowly, his fingers trailing on England’s arms. He took the handles once again, England sensing that they were moving deeper into the space, distant from other people where they could be alone. The room that America took him to was small, but comfortable. Silently, America helped him out of the chair and onto the edge of the bed. They didn’t speak as their hands found the way to buttons and buckles. America paused as he unfastened England’s shirt, leaning forward to press a kiss to his collarbone. He took one of England’s hands, threading his fingers through his. Their hands grasped at each other on the blankets. He could feel the tremble of England’s thighs, he’d been getting stronger, but he was still too weak to stand. The healing wounds didn’t help. But he was not too weak to get his legs around America’s back and press their bodies together.

"Alfred." It came out as a gasp as America rocked against him. The gasps of the blue eyed man's name continued as rhythm muddled. "I love you." It was breathless, but it was there as the smaller blond twisted beneath him.

America’s heart swelled. The feeling nearly overwhelmed him and he pressed his face against England’s skin. “I love you, too.” _Tell me again as many times as you can._ Every motion seemed to burn itself into his memory. _It’s not goodbye. This is_ not _goodbye._

As everything wound down the air and bodies sticky with sweat England pressed a kiss to America’s forehead. "What's the matter, love?"

“Just thinking about how I can make you shout my name.” It was a deflection and he only hoped England would play along.

"You've always been a shoddy liar."

America rolled to his side and brought England with him so they could lay still pressed against each other. “I want you to make me a promise.”

"Alfred..." England stared at him uneasily. "You know better."

“I don’t want us to say goodbye to each other. Not during the war. You’re gonna survive this and we’ll be together.”

"Alfred..." England reached out and touched his face. "This has gotten you scared."

“I don’t want to lose you. It’s come too close.”

"You can't lose me. I'm a nation."

“It doesn’t mean you don’t get hurt. I told you before, that I wasn’t going to hold back anymore because if you were gone, what was the point? I just want you to know that without you... I’m a completely different person.”

“I’m sure-” He hesitated. “I am sure you would be fine. You made it very clear in the past you are fine on your own.”

“You were still always there. Even when I pushed you away... I still knew you were there.”

Ugly thoughts that had come to England’s mind during the blitz surfaced once again and he swallowed bile. Rome. “Alfred... if the Germans do win you need to be ready.”

“They aren’t going to win.”

"But if they do-"

“I’ll stop them. They’ll wish they never tried.”

"Love, but just in case-"

“Ready for what?”

"Even Rome fell."

“You’re not gonna fall. I won’t let you.”

"But what if-"

America’s brow furrowed, his arms tightening slightly around England as though to anchor him. “What if?”

"What if I fall? You need to be ready. Keep moving on."

America was quiet for a long time. He smoothed his fingers through England’s hair. He pressed his lips against England’s forehead so he couldn’t see his eyes. “I... I don’t know what I will do if that happened. I... right now the thought makes me want to burn the world down.”

"That's exactly the problem, Alfred. You can’t do that."

“And I won’t because you’re not going to fall.” He smoothed his hands over England’s back, holding his body close.

"Alright, alright." England nodded, touching America’s cheeks and pulling him into a kiss. "Now what were you saying about me screaming your name?" The taunt turned into a gasp as America rolled him under…

***

Morning came all too quickly, knocks on the door pulling them from their exhausted stupor, neither of them had wanted to sleep much last night. Soft kisses and exchanges peppered dressing time but when they opened the door it was clear all bets were off. Everything proceeded in a blur and before either of them could process it England was being pushed up the ramp of the boat heading to London. England peered over his shoulder. "Alfred, good b-"

“See you soon!” America interrupted, cutting off the farewell. It came off clipped, more of an order. _We can’t say goodbye to each other._ He hurried up the ramp for a moment, escaping the two ensigns that had clearly been told to look after him. He held out a hand. “See you soon,” he repeated.

England stared at the hand. "No."

America looked back at him in confusion. “No?”

"Absolutely not.”

“I want to rip you out of that chair and run off with you, but I’m pretty sure that would cause a scene.” He looked around at the array of people trying to get England aboard and America off the gangplank. “Can you guys give us a sec? It’s not like we’re gonna fly away.”

"Master Jones is going to walk me to my cabin," England announced. When the American diplomats opened their mouths to protest England arched a brow. It was a low blow. "You let a foreign diplomat get shot on your own soil. Should you really be denying me anything?"

No one stopped them as they went aboard. It was a heavily armored ship and England’s cabin was in the heart of the officers’ quarters. “Here we are,” America said, coming around to the front of the chair. He sank to his knees and wrapped his arms around England’s middle.

"Alfred..." England stroked his head. "It will be okay. It's just goodb-"

“No. You can’t say goodbye to me. You can leave... but no goodbyes.”

"I want to!"

America stiffened at his tone and slowly drew back. “Fine.”

England clasped his face between his hands firmly so he couldn't look away and he waited until America was staring at him. "Goodbye for now love. Goodbye for today, for this afternoon. Goodbye for this moment. Goodbye for an hour. Goodbye for a day. A night. Goodbye for a week. A month. Perhaps goodbye for a year." He pressed a kiss to America's mouth between each goodbye. "I have to say goodbye because without that I cannot say hello again." A kiss for every hello. "I want a hello for every year. Hello every month. Hello every week. Hello every day. Hour. Morning and hello every night. But hellos need goodbyes."

The kisses became salty as the emotion broke through. America drew back from the last kiss, his fingers hooking into England’s hands. “You better be saying hello to me soon. If you don’t, I’m gonna come find you.”

"Is that a promise?"

“Yes.” 

"I'll hold you to it."

“Good.” There was a banging on the door. 

"Fucking A..." England muttered. "I guess that's the sign."

America pressed forward, kissing him one last time. It was slow and soft, warm. He pulled back with a sharp intake of breath and moved toward the door.

"Goodbye." 

America’s footsteps paused at the door. “Bye.”

"I... I love you," England whispered.

“I love you.” America’s footsteps resumed, leaving England alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! We love to hear from you, so please leave us a comment or a kudo! 
> 
> Next chapter: We rolling closer and closer to the date that will live in infamy...


	11. Infamous Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America can feel himself creeping closer to war, but he's not sure which side of the world he will be fighting on.

_August 1941_

_Honolulu, Hawaii_

America sat down hard in the sand, not caring that the grains would cling to his suit. He dug his fingers into the beach, watching the waves roll toward him. He found the sharp edge of a clam shell and picked it up. He examined the smooth underside where some seabird had plucked the shell’s former resident. He ran his finger over the rough ridges. He hated that he was here and not at England’s side. It had taken everything in his power not to pick up the phone and try to call him last night, but there would have been too much risk of the call being intercepted half a world away.

“This is not an appropriate place to continue our negotiation.”

America closed his fist around the shell, feeling it splinter in his palm. He didn’t look up. “I’ll be back inside in a second, Kiku.”

“That is a physical impossibility.”

“It’s a figure of speech.”

Silence and then the shifting of sand as the other nation walked forward. Japan stood next to him for a moment, staring out at the turquoise waves. He sighed and then sat down on the sand beside America. Glancing over, America watched his face. Japan continued to look at the blue water and America joined him.

There were people laughing further down the beach, children running away from the larger swells as the water swirled onto shore. The sun was warm on his suit jacket and America pulled it off, laying it out on the sand and rolling up his sleeves. His diplomats could complain later. Shadows cast by palm trees broke up the long expanse. They’d been cooped up in the hotel for days looking for a solution. Japan didn’t want to budge and now America would have to do what he’d threatened. They both knew it. America wished he could stomach smoking a cigarette.

“How did we get here?” America asked.

Japan was silent and America thought he wasn’t going to answer. “I have to do what’s best for my people, Alfred.”

“And you really think that invading China and threatening the other Asian nations is best for your people?”

Japan turned, meeting America’s eye for the first time in a long time. America felt like he was finally looking _at_ him, as opposed to through him. America searched his face, trying to find his old friend. He had to be in there somewhere. “That is what my boss and his generals believe.”

“But what do you believe?”

Japan turned away, looking down at the beach and the families playing in the sand. He looked old then, as ancient as the looks that would appear on other older nations’ faces. They’d seen centuries more than he had. “Alfred, will you hold to what you’ve promised?”

“The embargo? That depends, are you going to withdraw?”

Silence. They both knew the answer. America wished he didn’t. Despite the thrown gauntlet, the silence was almost companionable. After all, the result that they’d both been dreading was done. The decision was made. Japan was going to continue on his path that would inevitably bring him into conflict with the others again and again, and America wouldn’t provide him any more material to do it. America just had to hope that Japan would reconsider, he’d done all he could.

“I heard that Arthur woke up.”

“Yeah. Your ally didn’t do as much damage as he’d hoped.” America frowned. “Despite the stunt they pulled on my land.”

“Yet you do not declare war on them.”

“I’m not talking about this with you.” A beach ball rolled down the beach in front of them, a group of children chasing it. There was a mix of light and dark hair, eastern faces and western faces. They watched them for a moment. “Their parents were yours, you know.”

“I know.” Japan pushed up to his feet. “I am going back.”

“Just a second, who knows when we’ll be on a beach together again.” Japan didn’t sit back down, but he didn’t leave either. They listened to the people go about their day until America stood as well. “Let’s get this over with.”

“ _Hai, dekimashou._ ”

***

_August 25, 1941_

_Magdeburg, Germany_

“You know we aren’t too far from one of those camps.” Vera Atkins leaned forward, allowing England to light her cigarette. Her German was flawless, but being one of the top female spies demanded such skill cultivation. It had taken a bit of adjustment from archaic german to the more modern tongue, but England liked to think that he was faring well. He used the same match to light his own before snuffing it out with calloused fingertips. 

“Let’s not mention that,” England muttered, leaning into the back of his chair as a support. The Nazi party was a suspicious lot, simply more than just the fact that they were the enemy. It was nerve wracking. “Any news for your estranged brother dear?”Dark eyes turned on him and he shot her an apologetic glance. She was Vera Atkins now, but she had been born Vera Maria Rosenburg, German-Jewish and British. She had a very personal stake in all of this. She was technically french right now working beneath Colonel Maurice Buckmaster. “Well, my dear you seem to be doing well.” England placed a hand palm up on the table and when she placed her own in his he lifted it to press a modest kiss to her knuckles. A well-practiced lovesick smile on his features. The slip of paper now in his hand weighed but an ounce, yet carried the weight of hundreds of lives. That tiny little slip of paper courtesy of the Polish Cipher Bureau.

“I’m glad that the bus system seems to be working so much better, dear. You weren’t late for supper last night.” _The French version of the Underground Railroad simply called the underground._ England nodded, the support from his boss about making sure that all of the workers get home safe as possible has been very positive. The small piece of paper slid down his sleeve. “Even with the hundreds of people having problems securing hours in their normal vocations.” She nodded a rather serious expression darkening her features. _The one hundred, at least, spies that had gone missing since the espionage wing had gone full swing._ “And what exactly are they doing to fix the problem, do you know?”

“Nothing yet, there are so many moving parts. But I can promise you there will be something done about it all.” England squeezed her hand tightly in physical reassurance. They were doing all they could, but this was war, everyone was stretched as thin as possible.

“Well, good. So are you coming to the party tonight? Has your office approved it?”

“Yes, of course, my dear. I got my suit ironed and everything.”

“Well, look at you. On top of things, love. A change of pace.” _There’s been a slight change in plans._ “We have been asked to bring a dessert instead of bread.” _The informant is in danger, we must switch._

“Oh, yes, I received that notice at the office yesterday, I told them it was last minute and couldn’t be helped. She told me not to worry about it and just bring something the next time. Tonight we should just bring ourselves” _Informat has been removed to safety. Play the facade simply tonight._

“Well, good, gives me more time to do my hair.” Vera smiled and smudged her cigarette. “I do so miss senior service.”

*** ****

**October 1941 - Secret communication between Washington D.C. and London, England.** ****

**Arthur,** ****

**You’ve no doubt heard about the attack off the coast of Iceland. The _USS Reuben James_ is confirmed sunk by a U-boat. It’s being hushed up. My government doesn’t want my people demanding something rash. I can’t even tell you what I feel right now. I’m at naval war with Germany and I can’t say it. I’m supposed to pretend like it doesn’t exist. He’s doing the same. I’ve lost men. One hundred of them. I’m... I don’t even know if I can say. I... don’t even know what I want to say. I wish I was with you.** ****

**Yours,**

**Alfred F. Jones**

***

_December 5, 1941_

_London, England_

_Buckingham Palace_

“They aren’t going to listen until I wage war on every single one of the bastards!” England snapped, storming into Canada’s office and slapping a telegram onto the desk. Canada stared at England for a brief moment of surprise and delight. The fact that England was able to storm anywhere was a blessing in itself. The blond could walk again, not for extended periods but it was far better than when he was constrained to the chair, he had been anxious and fidgety at best. A wave of concern over the statement crashed over the joy as he peered down at the document.

“Really?” The question was quiet.

“Don’t really have much choice now do I?” He dragged his hands through his hair, damp with sweat and stress. “I am declaring war on Finland, Hungary and Romania... and it’s not even lunchtime.” Clasping the back of his neck as Canada rubbed at his eyes, England sighed. “I am going out.”

“Where are you going?” Canada pushed his glasses up to his nose in curiosity.

“You remember how I told you that we were going to work on your occult tonic creations?” England grinned at the interest that immediately lit Canada’s face. Out of everything he studied in regards to his powers the creations of spells and potions were something that he favored. “Well, I had most of those books in a place for safekeeping, a man who would protect books simply because of their rarity, regardless of their content.”

“Really? Where do you meet someone like that?”

“Well, actually I am more familiar with his friend who, when I told him my needs, pointed me to a gentlemen’s club years ago and I have been utilizing his services ever since.” England checked his watch. “He runs a bookshop with the most atrocious hours, but I feel that I will just be able to catch it open.” England smiled and dipped into the hall.

Not having to hail a cab was always a timesaver, although the struggle to find a parking space often threatened to outweigh the benefit. It didn’t help that a 1926 Bentley was parked in front of the shop and the cars parked around it gave it a wide berth. England shook his head, every time. The bell chimed in welcome, England removing his hat with a “Good afternoon.” He was greeted to the sight of a long-legged redhead draped across the front counter with a grin, a blond man sighing in fond exasperation.

“Ah, Kirkland, good to see you survived the blast then, eh?” The black-clad man grinned at him over sunglasses, his counterpart huffing.

“Don’t be rude!”

“It’s just fine.” England waved his hand. He wouldn’t have been able to save the cathedral without this odd pair. Ethereal and occult. So odd. “Actually, I am here about one of my books gentlemen.” He smiled.

“Of course!” the blonde smiled and made a shooing gesture. The drab dresser grunted and pushed off the counter haphazardly to saunter towards what England could only assume was the back apartment.

“Pleasure seeing you again, Mr. Crowley,” England called after the man who waved over his shoulder with a noise of agreement.

“Ignore him, he woke on the wrong side of the bed. Now come, I keep your books locked in the back where grubby hands cannot touch them.”

“Thank you, Mr. Fell, the British family appreciates your devoted care to our relics, even the odd ones.” He smiled and the softer man laughed.

“Trust me, Lord Kirkland, I have seen it all.”

_***_

_December 7, 1941_

_Chequers Estate, Residence of the British Prime Ministers, Buckinghamshire_

_5:00 pm_

America wasn’t sure it was entirely possible to feel joy and trepidation at once. When he’d been invited to the country to share a dinner with Churchill and England, he’d been surprised that it hadn’t been in London. Things had accelerated rapidly since he’d last seen him in August. In September, a Nazi U-boat had attacked an American warship, the _USS Greer._ It was all out war on Axis shipping if they came into American waters. It was shoot on sight if they got anywhere near a convoy he was protecting. He’d rolled out a new supply ship, the _USS Patrick Henry_ , the first of what he planned to call Liberty Ships. England was finally able to hit back and launched attacks into Germany with the RAF. Then October came and brought the first American casualties of the war off of Iceland. England had called him immediately to ask if that was it. It wasn’t. Congress still wouldn’t commit.

It had gone silent in eastern Europe. He knew that Russia and Germany were at each other’s throats now and all of the nations in between were falling like dominoes. Many of them were taking refuge in England’s house. America had seen them when he’d arrived. He couldn’t bear to ask what they had seen. Not that they were willing to talk to him anyway. The Allies were facing one loss after another.

Things had gotten worse with Japan. The prime minister that had been working with them to figure out a peace had fallen. His government was gone. As the car rumbled beneath him, America had the intelligence sitting in his lap. It was likely Japan was going to attack a British or a Dutch holding any day now. The navy had disappeared into the wide blue of the Pacific. America knew he had to tell him.

He’d sent an ultimatum to Japan eleven days ago. He’d been counting them, waiting for a response from someone he’d once considered a friend. Japan hadn’t answered. He was still occupying China and had expanded his reach to several of the other nations in the area. He could attack British Malaya, the Dutch East Indies, Thailand, any of them. America frowned as they pulled up in front of the large country estate that was nearly as old as America was. He looked out at the brown brick and remembered his last conversation with Japan. He’d been lying to his face. Even if America had agreed to the last proposal, it didn’t stop him from being a threat. Japan wanted an empire, too.

The door opened and America took a deep breath as he stepped out. A young man who had the look of a secretary said, “Lord Kirkland requested you meet him in the garden.” America was surprised and shivered a little in his coat, but he followed regardless.

“Arthur?” America asked as he was directed through a garden gate. Everything was brown with a light dusting of snow, sleeping.

"Alfred, good evening." England straightened from where he had been kneeling over the flower bed, dusting off the knees of his trousers and smiled at him.

“Your legs,” he said, hurrying forward. “Can you stand again?” He didn’t really give England a chance as he wrapped his arms around him. They overbalanced and tumbled against the frozen dirt.

"Twat!" England squawked in indignation, breathlessly.

“You should have told me.” America pressed a kiss to his cheek, ignoring England’s protest that his clothes were getting dirty.

"Why?!" He pushed at America. "Have some dignity!"

America shook his head, but pulled them up off the ground. “Because, I asked you about how you were doing on the phone and you said ‘the same’!”

"And have you rush over here in a tizzy and set everyone off!"

“I would not have been in a tizzy!”

"Like I said you've always been a shitty liar."

“I’ll show you a tizzy.” America pulled England toward him and hooked his fingers under his chin. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth against his. England slapped at his chest before melting against him with a soft sigh.

"Alfred..."

“Just kiss me for a sec.”

"Prat," he muttered before leaning into the kiss, twining his arms around the others neck with a soft hum of delight. Pressing flush against the other he murmured approval.

America wrapped his arms around his waist and felt his spirit lift. England was beginning to heal, so that meant that despite the continued losses, there was hope. “Do we have to join them for dinner?”

"Yes, Alfred," England chided. "Although tomorrow I told them we would be having no part of delegations."

“Dang, I was hoping that I didn’t need the suit I brought.”

That perked England's interest. "You actually brought a suit?"

“Yeah, it’s pretty sharp. You’ll have to wait until dinner to see it.” He grinned at him.

"You sure? I'm worried you won't be able to tie your tie properly. Never have been able to and these are people of importance meeting here.”

“It’s Gil and Averill. The way they tell it, Churchill has practically adopted them,” America said, calling his ambassador and lend-lease agent by their given names. “It’s people we know, but... I can save my tie for you.”

"Good. You do that." England hummed in amusement.

“I should hit the showers. You’re welcome to join, but you can’t blame me if we’re late.” He stepped away, his fingers grasping England’s lightly.

"You're leaving already?" England frowned.

“Hardly, I just want to get inside where it’s warmer.” He shivered.

"What happened to your Hollywood film garbage," England scowled and strode past him. "Fine inside we go."

America caught up with him and took his hand. “Oh, I’ve got all kinds of lines for you when we’re in front of a fire.”

"I thought you wanted to 'sweep me off my feet' "he mocked.

“You should have just said something.” Before England could turn around with another teasing remark, America had picked him up in one easy movement, spinning them around for a moment and pressing another kiss on England’s lips. “Have you seen _A Yank in the RAF?_ Part of me feels like the two pilots should have just gotten together, but there was no way that was gonna happen.”

"Stop talking" England gasped. "Just bloody kiss me stupid Yank."

America made a small sound of amusement, but then offered what was wanted. He kissed England with fervor, pure joy swelling through him. Tangling his fingers in his hair England's teeth found his bottom lip, the shorter blond nipping at his bottom lip.

"I am not in the mood to be teased."

“Then come get in the shower with me. I’ll make it worth your while. We’ve got time before dinner.” He drew England into another kiss, pressing his advantage of height and leverage. England mumbled into the kiss, opening his mouth to the others prodding as he surrendered to the other. The stone of the palace cold and unforgiving against his back as he was trapped against it.

"No shower. Bath," he argued, tilting his head to the side as America’s tongue found his pulse. He moaned quietly, pressing against him.

“Takes too long. I want you...” He gasped as England’s fingers tightened in his hair. “Now.”

"Nope," England breathed, pressing a hard kiss to the spot behind America’s ear. "No."

America made a sound of frustration. “What do you mean, no?” He turned his head and caught England’s lips once more.

"It's cold." England gasped against his mouth. "And we have to change."

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. So...” He adjusted his hold on England, jostling him into a better position. “Get in the shower with me. Fifteen minutes.”

"No. I don't want to."

“What do you want?”

"Not a quick fuck," England pushed him off, smoothing his hands down his coat.

America pouted for a moment and then took a deep breath. He was clearly trying to dial back the energy that had built up in him. He carefully adjusted his own coat. “Okay. Not a quick one, but that means you better feed me so I can keep you up all night.” He grinned.

England watched him for a moment, lips pursed before glancing around. "Just make it quick before anyone shows up looking."

A surprised look crossed America’s face. “You’re giving me whiplash, sweetheart.” His smile softened and he stepped closer. “I don’t want to do it outside. Maybe when it’s warmer.” He looked around thoughtfully.

England dug out his pocket watch and clicked it open, clucking. "We are running out of time. Let's get on with it."

America made a face at him and then reached forward to grab his hand. Soon, they were darting through the nearest doorway. The first available door in the hall proved to be a closet. He stepped in, pulling England to him with a small laugh.

"I thought you said shower."

“I thought you said get on with it."

"For the love-" England muttered, pulling him into a kiss.

America kissed his back, fingers moving to the buttons on his shirt until he could lay hand on the skin of England’s stomach.

"Hurry with it," England huffed, wrapping his arms around his neck.

Clothing grew loose, America hoisting England up in his arms in the narrow space. He pressed his face against England’s neck, muffling a groan as their bodies moved together.

England clung onto him, moaning softly as his body responded. He didn't hate this. Not in the least. But this wasn't his plan. Not what he wanted. His thoughts muddled as America slammed into him harder until both of them were reduced to a panting mess.

Pressing a soft kiss to the side of England’s head, America hummed a little. A happy sound. “That will make dinner easier. You know, since I have to wear a suit.” He began to do up England’s buttons as he leaned against the wall.

"Glad to be of service" England looked down and worked up America's buttons in turn. He had to go change soon.

America smiled. “We’ll get that bath tonight after dinner.” His fingers hooked into England’s sleeve as he turned to go back out into the hall. “One more kiss?”

England nodded and looked up at him. It was over with. Nothing he could do now. Reaching up he pressed a soft kiss to America's mouth.

“See you in a little while.” He gave him one last smile and stepped out into the hall, his hand lingering on England’s until the distance was too far.

***

_6:00 p.m._

America knocked on the door of England’s room. His hair had been pushed back and he fidgeted a little in the suit. He’d been thinking of England when he bought it and he hoped he would like it. The blue pants had been pressed to crisp lines and his white shirt didn’t have a spot. He held his tie loosely between his hands, waiting.

The door opened and England stood in front of him decked out in his officer uniform,with brass shined and buttons polished. "Alfred... you look very smart."

America grinned. “I saved my tie for you.” He held up the cloth. “I haven’t seen you like that in a while,” he said, taking in England’s uniform as he stepped forward to take the tie.

"I'm always in uniform" England huffed, ushering him in and closing the door.

“It’s usually the field one. And this one is better looking than the one from twenty years ago.”

"Ah yes, well it's important tonight." He slipped the tie over the other man's neck and set to work. Experienced fingers setting a Windsor knot.

“That’s why I’m here.” America held still, but only just. He swallowed as England’s fingers brushed his throat. He put his hands on England’s waist, the thick wool masking his lean form. “It’s possible that there will be fighting in the Pacific soon.”

"I'll deal with it when it comes to pass," he sighed, tightening the knot.

“I know you will. Kiku says he’ll keep negotiating, but I can’t read him.” America’s mouth turned down at the corner. “But I guess we can’t change that right now.” He took one of England’s hands in his own and kissed his fingers.

"No, we cannot," England murmured watching America. "Alfred... you got what you wanted earlier."

America met his eyes, curiosity in them. “Yeah?”

“So I get what I want next, yes?”

“Sure, what do you want?”

“Slow," he muttered looking away.

America reached up and cupped his cheeks, turning his face back towards him. “I’m yours all night and the morning if we can get away with it.”

England avoided his gaze. He didnt want their first interaction to be a quick fuck and he was frustrated that was what it had been. He had psyched himself up to that performance and now he was uncertain. "Prat."

America’s stomach growling answered. America chuckled. “Ready to eat?”

"I suppose that that is what we should do." He finally looked at the blue eyed man. "Kiss me again."

The request was met almost immediately, America leaning in to kiss him. The kiss was affectionate. Simple. Warm.England sank into the kiss with an uncharacteristic happy sigh, fingertips pressing against America's chest. Tension that had sat in his shoulders lessened immediately.

"Alfred."

“Hmmm?” America’s eyes drifted closed as he rested his forehead against England’s.

"Let's run."

America pulled back so he could look at England’s face. “Arthur?”

“Let's go somewhere else. They don't need us here." England stared up at him with a resolved expression.

“Where should we run?”

"Anywhere." A knock on the door interrupted their conversation and England stared at it in disgust.

“Arthur? Papa asked me to look in on you.” It was Churchill’s daughter’s voice. Sarah had joined the Women’s Auxiliary Force and had become rather close with America’s ambassador. England sometimes wondered if it was a little _too_ close.

"I will be there in a moment," Arthur called out.

“We could still slip out the back,” America whispered.

"No," England muttered, pulling away. "If I could just get shot a couple of times that would be nice. Take a damn vacation."

America frowned. “Don’t say that. It’s bad luck.” He sighed. “It’s just one dinner, right? We’ll run later.” He offered England a smile.

"Its not just one fucking dinner ,Alfred!" England snapped. "It's another waste of my damn fucking time with useless fucking American diplomats!"

It hurt. America’s smile slipped away and he tugged at the bottom of his suit jacket. “Now who’s starting the same argument?” His voice was low and not as steady as he would have liked it.

"It's going to be the same thing in there just like it has been! I don't know what else to do!" He threw his hands up in the air. "I don't know. Maybe I should go blind again! Lose my ability to walk permanently! Maybe a couple years in a coma would do the bloody trick!"

“And you think I’m not frustrated!?” America curled his hands into fists. “Do you really think I enjoy standing here while you are losing a war and I can’t do anything more than build you some planes and trade you some warships I built for the last one?! Do _not_ talk about getting yourself hurt!”

"I can talk about what the bloody fuck I ever want!"

“You’re not getting hurt and that’s fucking final!” America shouted

"Big fucking talk for someone not even in the fucking war!"

“Not for someone who nearly lost the person he loves! I hate the idea that I haven’t been able to do more!”

"I was nowhere near death! I was only in a coma!"

“I am not arguing my feelings with you! If you don’t believe me, I don’t know what more I can do!”

"You could make up your damn mind!"

“I’m doing what I can. My people know it's inevitable!”

"But let's just piddle away while the British Empire does all of the hard work, yes!? Sounds much like history!" He was exhausted and frustrated. It felt like he had been fighting for years. Like the Great War had never ended before this one started.

America turned away from him, then slammed his hand into the wall. The plaster cracked. “I was fucking there! I was at the Battle of Britain. I saw the Blitz! Without me and my supplies you might not have just been in a coma! You were fucking attacked right in front of me!”

"Dont fucking break my wall!" England shoved at him.

Whirling back around, America caught England by the shoulders. “You’d rather me throw all caution to the wind? I can make that happen!”

"I didnt fucking say that!" He pushed on America's chest attempting to put distance between them, fingers curling into the suit fabric doing the exact opposite.

“Then what? I would be in the war years ago if I could change it!”

"I DON'T WANT YOU IN THE WAR!!"

The silence that settled afterwards was deafening. “You...” The confusion was carved into America’s face. It was as if he was trying to piece together words of a language he didn’t speak. “What?”

"I don't want you in the war! I've never wanted you in the war!" England pulled away, dragging his hands through his hair, fingertips warming in frustration. His power was finally coming back.

“But, you’ve been railing on me not being in the war... You were just yelling at me for dragging my heels!” America’s hands hung limply at his sides. His expression changed to worry, as though England had suffered a head injury. “I don’t get it.”

"For not making up your damn mind!" He yelled. "That's what I am pissed about. Either get in so I can take care of you or stay out of it so I don't have to worry!"

America stepped toward him. “You don’t have to take care of me in the war, I’m taking care of you.”

“No, you aren't. And I don’t want you anywhere near it. I can do this on my own. I always have. I will continue to do this on my own.”

“Arthur, when I’m in the war we’re gonna be equals. We can take care of each other. You don’t have to do it on your own.”

"I'm used to it!" The hot tears pricked at his eyes. When had he turned into such a crybaby?

America reached out to him and then pulled him against his chest. “Except you don’t have to. I’m... I’m coming to help.”

"I don't want you involved, it's not safe."

“I’ll make it through. So will you.” He wrapped his arms around England and leaned their foreheads together. “It’s gonna be over quick when my government decides.”

"You don't know that."

“If we go down, it’s gonna be together. But we won’t, ‘cause I’m not gonna let that happen. Okay?”

"Excuse me?" England snorted. "Who do you think you are?"

A grin. “Alfred F. Jones. The United States of America.”

"And why does that mean anything here?"

“Because I’m me. And I’m on your side.” America’s fingers found England’s chin and tilted his head up. “Let me be your hero.”

"M-my-” He could have fried an egg on his cheeks. "What rubbish is t-hat!?"

“Truth,” America said, he pressed a kiss to England’s cheek, just in time for Sarah to come knocking on the door again.

“Arthur? Papa is waiting for you.”

"Coming!" England called out and he looked back up at America before pulling him down into one last kiss. America tipped England backwards a little, pulling back slowly and straightening England’s uniform collar.

“The sooner we go, the sooner we can come back here and be alone.”

"Come on then, git," England muttered pushing towards the door and smiling at Sarah on the other side. "Apologies. Here I am." He offered the young woman his arm guiding her back down the hall. "Let's see if they utilize our time efficiently, yes?" He chuckled as she rolled her eyes. Here they went to another pointless meeting.

***

_6:30 p.m. UK_

America leaned back in his seat, his plate clean in front of him. He folded his hands over his stomach and ignored it when England kicked his leg beneath the table mouthing the word ‘manners’ at him. It was too comfortable of an atmosphere to be so rigid. Despite everything that had been going on, the people around this particular table seemed to be on the same page. They were all working and talking about finding a way to get Washington to understand. As the toe of England’s shoe caught his ankle again, America moved his foot so that he could hook behind England’s ankle. It had the desired effect as he moved his foot backward. England was pulled forward in his chair.

_GIT._ England glared, hand flying out to grab America's knee in warning, a small zap quick at his fingers. _NO._

America nearly knocked over his glass when England’s hand landed on him. He glanced over at him. _How does he do that?_ He reached under the table and caught England’s hand. No one seemed to notice, absorbed in their own conversations. England pulled back, but he clung to his fingertips as long as he could. It felt almost normal, sitting at the dinner party despite what was crashing down in the world around them.

"My home is near here," he leaned over, murmuring.

“That sounds like a suggestion,” America whispered back. “Do you have a plan for getting out of here?”

"Perhaps." He shrugged. "Perhaps I'd also like to stay the entire time."

“There’s at least some Anglo-American unity in this room,” America half-teased. It was the truth, everyone in the room was on the same side, standing together the way that America thought it should have been since the beginning. England was even healing. “I could think of another kind that will have you reaching for a cigarette.” His knee bumped England’s beneath the table.

"You are so crass," England hissed, jabbing back at him with his own knee, energy laced finger tips pinching at his thigh in warning. He smirked at the small gasp that escaped the other with a cough to disguise it and the shifting in his seat. "Behave."

“Do you really want that?” There was a brief pause in the conversation as the topic of dessert was breached. A simple one had been prepared with what rations were available. “You know what I’ve got in my suitcase?” America whispered, leaning toward England again.

"I'm not sure I want to know."

“I’ll give you a hint. It comes in a package. It’s sweet. Dark. You make a really cute face when you eat it.”

England stared at him. "I am the bloody British Empire, I am not cute!"

“Not usually, but you can be.” America gave him a teasing grin.

"Absolutely not!"

“I’ll snap a photo one of these days. Commemorate the event.”

"Lying is unbecoming."

“Then tonight. I’ll get the camera.”

"No. No voyeurism tonight."

“Just us, huh?” America bumped England’s knee again, looking across the table. “What’s that, Gil?” America said to his ambassador.

“You both had just been so deep in conversation, we were wondering if it would be of interest to the rest of the table.” It was an innocent enough statement, as they had been whispering back and forth.

“Nope,” America replied with no added explanation.

“We were just discussing the mare I am about to breed, I am searching for a new stallion and he had provided one in the past and was looking at new bloodlines.” England picked up his wine glass.

“Yeah, I’ve got some awesome studs.” America glanced at England, following the thread.

"Of course it would have to wait until after the war and I wish to do it sooner rather than later." England shrugged. "So unfortunately it's not plausible."

“I could always take them with me. Keep them safe for you.”

"No... you're going to risk transporting a stallion on a ship right now?"

“Attacking my ships further would be war.”

"Don't put it past them." England snorted. "They've bombed ships of children they don't care." His tone was bitter.

Silence descended on the dinner table. It was only broken when Pamela, Churchill’s daughter in law, suggested they go through and listen to some music. There was a clear tone of trying to escape. As people stood up England shook his head.

"I am going to retire for the evening." He got to his own feet. He was done. Once again nothing had been decided.

“I’ll walk you back,” America said. The clock in the parlor was chiming the three-quarter hour. “Arthur...” he said, when England started to walk faster. He caught up with him around the corner of the hallway, hooking his hand around his arm so England had to stop.

"Yes?' He arched a brow. "I don't have time to waste."

“Waste?”

"By staying here."

“Okay, let’s go then.” America pulled him close for a moment and hugged him.

"Alfred?" His eyes widened in surprise.

“I don’t want to waste any time either.”

"I... you... yes," England murmured, fingers curling into his jacket. "Let's go."

“Lead the way.” America gave him a smile. England turned, but his hand caught when America didn’t move. He turned back, a shocked expression on America’s face. He shivered as though he’d been hit by a blast of ice cold wind and put a hand to his face.

"Alfred?" Concern coursed through England. "What's the matter, love? Headache?"

“Yeah, it’s like I got hit in the back of the head...” He drew his hand away. Blood smeared his upper lip as more dripped from his nose. His hand went back, trying to staunch the flow. “The hell...?”

England's eyes widened as his mind screeched to a halt. That was a reaction he recognized. Yanking his handkerchief from his pocket, pushing into onto Alfred's face. "GET OUT HERE NOW!" His voice boomed through the hallway, throat hot with mystic aid. Doors flew open, the guests spilling into the hall, after dinner drinks in hand. "I want you lot to reach out to the White House now! Something is happening!" Between the sight of America and his order, action erupted in a flurry, the two American ambassadors rushing forward. "Back it up!" It came out as a snarl as Winant got to them. The normally even tempered man looked abashed and then like he was going to push. Harriman, certainly, looked like he was about to do something.

“Arthur...” America coughed, more blood bubbling up between his lips. England hadn’t seen fear in his eyes in nearly a century. Something had happened. “I’m being... it’s far away, it’s...” He coughed again, then his eyes rolled back in his head and he was falling.

"Fuck!"Arthur clutched at him, the larger nation a deadweight that forced the pair of them to the ground. Several hands rushed to grab them, yanking back as they were shocked violently. England glared up at them. "Don’t you fucking touch him!" he snarled as Churchill stepped into the hall, a grave expression on his face.

“The fleet...” America mumbled against the front of England’s shirt. He convulsed violently again.

“Arthur, there are things that must be...”

“You won’t fucking take him from me right now!”

“We are trying to reach out, but we cannot get through. It’s possible the American government doesn’t even know that something has happened yet. Do you think it could be an attack?” Churchill asked, his face unreadable.

England swallowed, his arms tightening around America. “It couldn’t be anything else.”

“We need to take him,” Winant insisted.

“No!”

England's arms tightened around him, panic edging at his thoughts. "Master Jones is to be brought to my guest chambers here and the court physician sent for immediately!" He barked. The man couldn't really do anything but it made him feel better nonetheless. When no one moved he looked up with a frown. The Americans stared at America in horror. It made sense. Their country was being bombed and their nation was suddenly sick. His eyes flicked to his own, many were staring up at the sky out the window in nervousness. Rightfully so. Just because the Blitz was over didn't mean that the bombing had stopped. The Germans were still bombing them. Just at a much lower frequency. Everything seemed to move like molasses. It felt like years had passed by the time America was tucked into his bed and England sitting on the edge. Now all there was to do was wait. Numb.

It was a few hours later when Churchill came into the room, two brandy glasses in his hand. England looked up. He’d been watching America’s unconscious face, his arm numb beneath his head. His eyes were sore from crying. “Is there news?”

Churchill offered him the glass, but England shook his head. “It appears that Japan has bombed Pearl Harbor, a military base on the American Hawaiian Islands." Silence followed. England looked back at America’s face. It was why it hadn’t been worse. It hadn’t been his mainland. England smoothed his fingers over America’s hair. “We will declare war on Japan,” Churchill said.

England nodded.

***

_December 8, 1941_

_Buckinghamshire, England_

_6:15 am_

It was nearly dawn before America stirred. “Where am I?” he muttered, eyes still closed.

"Still in Great Britain." England pulled his glasses off, relief flooding through him as he set the book down. Getting up from the chair he crawled onto the bed, touching America's forehead, throat thick with emotion.

“Arthur.” America leaned into his touch. “Is there news about what happened?”

"Alfred, the Japanese navy attacked Pearl Harbor in Hawaii. I assume they were after your Pacific fleet." England shook his head. "I don’t know much more than that as I haven't left the room and I told everyone to leave us be."

“It was Kiku? I was so sure it was gonna be Ludwig. But...” He opened his eyes slowly, looking up at England in the gray light. “I didn’t think any of them would actually dare...” He winced.

"Silly boy, I told you" England shook his head and smoothed his hair back. "Go back to sleep, love." His eyes pricked hot. He had been terrified. Too in shock to realize that he had been terrified when America had dropped. And then when they had been left in his rooms the tears had slipped out. He had feared this was coming. Something like this.

“We were working it out...” A furrow appeared in America’s brow. “Backstabbing son of a...” His jaw clenched, hot tears springing to his eyes. He squeezed them shut, anger causing him to shake.

"Alfred, love, you need to stay calm." He grasped his hands tightly. "Breathe for me." Stressing would only make things worse.

America tried to take a deep breath. It caused him to cough, but no more blood bubbled up out of his mouth. He leaned towards England’s body, pressing his face against his throat. The emotions caught up with him, the anger quickly sliding towards a coldness. “Congress is going to declare war on Japan. That means Germany and Italy will have to declare war on me to defend their ally.”

"I... yes." England stroked his back, staring at the curtains pulled across the window in silent horror. He hadn't wanted this to happen at all. France’s comments from what felt like years ago sprang to the front of his mind. _He will only join once there has been an attack on American soil._ He had been right.

“There’s stuff I should be doing.” America’s voice was muffled, his arms going around England’s middle to hold him back. Despite the fact that his body was still shaking, England could still feel his strength. No one had seen America fight full out in a modern war, even the Great War. But England had been at the receiving end of the single minded focus America could lay on an enemy, and that was when he didn’t have the numbers or the weaponry. Now he had both. “I’m going to have to pay him back. If I can... Arthur, most of my fleet was at anchor there. They thought it would be safe.” He put his hands over his face.

"Alfred, don't think about it now," England murmured, stroking his hair. "You need rest."

America took deep breaths, one after the other. “It’s the wrong war...”

"What do you mean?"

“It’s what my boss called it. The wrong war in the wrong ocean. I was supposed to come to your aid and the others... not fight Kiku.”

England was glad he said it. That thought had crossed his mind more than once while America was sleeping. "Alfred..." What was he supposed to say to that? America was finally in the war, but still not fighting with him.

“Fuck...” His shoulders stiffened again as another wave of emotion hit him, he took a shaky breath.

"Look at me," England murmured. America sniffed, lifting his head and shifting off England enough to look him in the eye.

"We will figure it out, all right?" He smoothed his hand over America's hair. "I'll make it okay. I'll take care of you."

America touched England’s cheek. “That’s what I am supposed to do.”

England gave him a wry smile. "Does not appear if that's gonna happen, love."

America’s brow furrowed, determined. “I can do both. I promised you. If Japan and the United States declare war on each other, Germany and Italy will have to as well, it’s their agreement. So, as soon as Congress votes, I’m at war with Kiku, Ludwig, and Feliciano. I’ve got to fight on both sides of the world.”

“No... not yet you don’t.”

“All of my plans that are ready to go focus on Europe. My boss and my generals are gonna want to use them.” America summoned up a smile, even though his face still looked ragged from the wave of emotion. “I’ve got big shoulders, Arthur.”

"Alfred..." England hesitated. "Perhaps you might want to take it easy... I don't know if they are as big as you think they are."

“No.” America shook his head. “I have to act fast to show them that they can’t keep me down for long. Otherwise they might try again. Gilbert practically told me that he was worried about what would happen when I got into the war.”

“Are you certain that he was worried about you beating him or something else?”

America cupped England’s face, his blue eyes searching England’s green. “You’re scared for me.”

“Of course I am, idiot!” England snapped “You should have stayed out of it!”

“In what version of reality would I have done that?” America’s brow furrowed. “We fought over the fact that I wasn’t ready to jump to when you went to war.”

“Because I didn’t think you would actually get involved!”

“Well, that ship has been sunk.” America shuddered. “Crap, they must be making a move somewhere else... Anyway, we don’t have to fight about that anymore.” He squeezed his eyes shut.

“Love?” Hands smoothed over his back. “Go back to sleep”

“I don’t know if I can...” He opened his eyes again to look at England’s face. “We’re in this together now, right? We’ll end it.”

“Yes...” England stared back at him. Blue as the ocean. “Let's do just that.”

America’s expression softened, relieved. He leaned forward, pressing his mouth to England’s. He pulled him tighter against his chest, removing any of the space between them.

“Alfred?” England pulled back. “We can’t.”

“Just kiss me, Arthur. I’m not asking for anything more. We’re both dreaming if you don’t think I’m gonna get pulled away, even if they have to stick me with morphine and drag me back home. So kiss me before I have to go fight a war on the other side of the world from you.”

"You're not leaving until I've laid claim at least a dozen times." England breathed, heart thudding painfully at the thought of the inevitable. And he kissed him harshly. America slid his hands up England’s back so that he could tangle his fingers in his hair.

America met him in the kiss, trying not to feel the pain that was deep beneath his skin. It wasn’t at the scale of what England had suffered, but it still felt like it went right through him. It was the collective shock of millions of Americans to discover that their country could be attacked out of the blue. That it wasn’t _over there_ anymore. The surge of emotions that came with people making the decisions to go to war. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

"Shut up," England murmured, tangling his fingers in America's hair and kissed him again, slow and thorough. Happy enough to lose himself in England’s arms, America tugged on the back of England’s shirt, yanking it from the back of his trousers. His fingers found the skin on England’s back, tracing his spine as far as he could reach. He mumbled in frustration when England’s suspenders refused to come unclipped.

"Are you sure you feel up to it?" England murmured against his mouth the fingers of one hand moving to hover over the clip.

“I’m here with you if you’re here with me.” Thoughts were racing through his head, thoughts that were going to lead him away from moments like this. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. He felt emotion well up in his chest again, unsure whether it was anger or fear or loss. America didn’t want to name them... not when he didn’t know how bad the attack had been. The world was going to be looking to see what he would do, but for now he only wanted to think of this. “Don’t hold back, babe.”

"Babe?" England arched a brow. "You only use that when you've been drinking."

“Do I?” America’s face grew thoughtful, trying to remember. “I guess I’m a little messed up right now.” He pressed his forehead against England’s letting his eyes drift shut. “I’ll be okay.”

England sighed softly. "Go to sleep."

“I don’t want to sleep.” He untangled his hands from England’s shirt, sliding his hand down his arm until he could take one of England’s hands in his own. He pulled it between them, gripping his fingers in his own. “I don’t want to think.”

"Alfred..." England murmured. "Sleep first you are tired. I can help you sleep."

“And lose out on time here? With you? No way. No matter how much it hurts.”

"And if I say no?"

“Are you?”

England hesitated. "Can we compromise on a nap?"

“Will you still be here when I wake up?”

"I should be, yes."

“Should or will?” America wrapped his arms around England’s back, as though he would hold him there and make sure he had to stay.

"Should," England repeated firmly. "But shall I get a sudden desire for a cuppa I shall vacate the bed and go get one. Only a daft man keeps an Englishman from his tea."

America rolled his eyes, then shuddered again as another wave of emotion struck him. “If my boss calls, wake me up. Don’t protect me... I need to hear what he has to say.”

"You will hear what he says."

“Okay.” America let his eyes drift shut.

England watched and waited until he was certain that America was in a dead sleep. Then he slipped from the bed. America would hear what his boss had to say but from him. In a much more controlled manner. Slipping from the room England only paused to place his palm on the lock. Sealed. Unless they had another nation with arcane magic unlock it they would have to break down the door to take America from him. He moved over to the desk where his new phone sat. The faeries would keep watch over the American. Swallowing England picked up the phone. This was not going to be a good phone call. The line joined and he sat down."I need to be patched through to the President of the United States, please and thank you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave us a comment or a kudo! We love hearing from you! (Side note: Otakuashels is wondering if you got the reference regarding the bookshop ;) )
> 
> History note: If you wondering why America was at dinner with England during the attack on Pearl Harbor - is that there is an 11 hour time difference between the UK and Hawaii... and ironically the American ambassador and the lend-lease ambassador happened to be having dinner with Churchill when the attack occurred. There was, of course, more of a time delay before the rest of the world knew what happened, but we shortened it for dramatic purposes. 
> 
> Next up: Some politics in the wake of the United States entering the war and things heating up in war and love.


	12. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America wakes up to a war.

_December 8, 1941_

_London, UK_

_Buckingham Palace_

America jolted bolt upright, sweat sticking to his skin. He took deep gulps of air, trying to shake the feeling that he’d been drowning. He could hear the hulls of the ships groaning in his dreams as bombs whistled and the telltale bubbles trailed after torpedoes. He clutched the front of his shirt and stared into the darkness of the room. When his heart had stopped thudding loudly he could hear voices from England's front room. An argument. Accents became distinguishable as voices grew louder in anger. English. Scottish. Welsh. The UK brothers were fighting again. There was the telltale crack of furniture breaking from being thrown.

America slid to the edge of the bed and climbed out of it. He tugged on his shirt collar, damp from sweat. He walked to the door, trying the knob, but it wouldn’t budge. He tried again, but still nothing. The voices on the other side of the door continued to rise in volume.

English began to bleed into the shouting in the form of curse words. And the distinct sound of a body slamming into the door and then someone screeching and the smell of burning and then more shouting. The carpet suddenly became wet under America's bare feet, ice crystals forming and then the clash of steel.

America stepped back from the wet, it must be colder in the room than he thought. He banged on the door, trying to get their attention. “Arthur!” His hand went to the knob again and gave it a hard turn.

There was a clash of glass and someone swore in Gaelic. "Go back to bed you wee brat!" Scotland's voice bellowed from behind the door.

“That’s not happening, now open the door!” America banged on it again.

"Alfred, I'll call for breakfast just go and wait." It was England's voice this time before shouting turned back to an old language.

The chill in the room and the feeling of the damp carpet was reminding him terribly of his nightmare. He felt his way back across the floor to the bed, trying to find the switch on the lamp in order to flood the room with light. Without the dark, it felt less like a watery grave. But now it felt like a jail. He went back to the door. “Let me out!” As another sound clattered in the outer room, the electricity flickered. His only response was more shouting then a loud crack, and a crash followed only by a cry of pain from England and swearing.

“Arthur!” America pounded on the door again, not bothering to hold in any of his strength. He let all of the anger, frustration, and fear loose and the wood of the door cracked. He hit it again, the hinges no match for the force.

Three pairs of eyes swiveled to him. England and Scotland stood over a broken vase, swords in hand. Wales had ended up standing on England's desk with a book. "You broke the door! That's original!" England cried as he stared at the youngest male in disbelief.

“What the fucking hell is going on?! Why did you lock me in?”

England looked sheepish and Scotland snorted. Muttering something in Gaelic and England snipped back at him. "Just having a bit of disagreement," Wales said smoothly, jumping off the desk. "You know, get it out before sitting down for the morning meal."

"I just didn't want you bothered while we were gone for breakfast." England sighed.

“Gone for breakfast. Of course. I need to call my boss.” America turned on his heel and started for the door. England had gone for more than a cup of tea.

"We haven't left for breakfast yet, Alfred. You're a mess, you can't go out there yet. I already talked to your boss." England started after him.

America turned around and stared at him in disbelief. “You what?”

"I called him." England lowered the sword, shoving it at Scotland who moved to put them both back about the desk where they belonged. "We agreed to wait until you woke up."

“Well, I’m awake.” America crossed his arms, the cold feeling sinking back into his body as the anger sank below the surface. He looked at the three of them. “What are you arguing about anyway?”

"None of your business, boy," Scotland huffed, stepping down from the chair. "Doesn't concern ya."

"That's not a step stool, Alistar!" England bit out, gesturing rudely at his brother as the redhead did the same to him. Wales snorted and settled down on the couch cracking open the book.

“It becomes my business when it’s happening in front of me.” America didn’t want to have this conversation right now. He wanted them to leave. The sleep hadn’t helped. He tried because England asked, but now he just felt agitated. The shock and grief his people had been feeling was already shifting to thoughts of war. Split still, but the voices for war were stronger than ever. He rubbed at his arms, trying to banish the feeling.

"I'll see you two for afternoon tea, tell Charles I'll be having breakfast with Master Jones up here," England said quietly, watching America. Scotland and Wales looked at America before looking to England and nodding. As they passed Wales squeezed England's arm, and Scotland ruffled his younger brother's hair. England didn't even bother to snipe back. Both of the older nations offered a sympathetic pat on America's shoulder as they left the pair and the mess behind.

“Was that important?” America asked, not moving from his spot. He watched England, waiting for an explanation of why he hadn’t stayed with him after he’d practically threatened every human in sight to keep them from taking America away.

"Yes... but it has nothing to do with you." England shook his head. "Come here." He gestured for America.

America stepped forward, stopping in front of him. He noticed a bump on the side of England’s head. He reached out to touch it. “Are you hurt?”

"No, it's fine." England caught his hand. "Kiss me."

“You weren’t there.” America stepped closer, body close, but not quite touching him, his fingers curled against England’s.

"I'm sorry I didn't know they would show."

“Okay.” He took England’s face in his hands. “Sure you don’t want to tell me what was going on?”

"Petty fights between brothers, nothing more."

America hummed softly and then pressed his mouth against England’s, trying to banish the doubt that had grown in his mind. England relaxed into the kiss, thumbs brushing over America's cheekbones.

"I did promise," England murmured against his mouth, fingers pushing down the hem of the younger nation’s sleeping pants.

“What about my boss?” America didn’t make a move to stop him.

"We can do that now or it can wait," England murmured, grasping him in hand. "Your choice."

A soft gasp, America’s hands drifting from England’s cheeks to smooth over the skin of his throat to settle on his shoulders. “Warm me up, Arthur.”

"Perfect choice, Alfred," England murmured, pushing him back towards the bedroom. He was interested to see how many hours he could coax out of the younger male. How long could he distract him?

***

Winter light slanted through the windows as America jerked awake. The first thing he could see was the back of England’s head, their bodies pressed together in sleep. It would be morning back home. Newspapers would be opened across tables that would tell those who hadn’t heard it on the radio. President Roosevelt would no doubt be addressing Congress. They would vote today and it would all be real. December 8, 1941 would be the day that he joined the war. It was no doubt that the rest would tumble in behind. He would declare war on Japan. To protect their ally, Germany and Italy would declare war on him. So many nations would come to the table to declare war on the United States and he would have to declare war right back. He tightened his arms around England and pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. Carefully, he began to untangle their limbs.

"Hungry?" England murmured, a yawn punctuating his question.

“I have to go to work, sweetheart.” He pressed a kiss to the top of England’s shoulder. He wanted to hold the sleepy warmth of England’s body as long as he could, but the time was growing short.

"No, you don’t," England said firmly, rolling over to look at him. "Just stay. I shall send for breakfast."

America reached up, smoothing his thumb over England’s eyebrow and then tracing down his cheek. “We both know that we can’t stay in this bed forever.”

"No, but you can wait more than a couple of fucking hours!" England snapped, anger rising in his chest.

America frowned. “You were having me escorted out within the hour of you declaring war. Arthur, I need to hear from my boss. All I can feel right now is my people... I need to know what they are going to do. I need to be a part of it. I won’t leave you today. I’ll come back.”

"I told you..." England shook his head. "Just go. Hurry on with it."

America kissed his cheek and pushed himself out of the bed, reaching for his clothes and pulling them on one by one. He paused at the edge of the bed after he was dressed, leaning over England who remained sprawled on the blankets. He gave him a small smile. “I love you.”

England looked up at him for a moment before reaching up to pull him down into one more kiss, a smile on his mouth. "Hurry back to me."

America turned away from him, trying to keep the warmth in his chest as the cold reality tried to seep back in at the edges. He called from the palace for Mr. Winant, his ambassador. He needed a secure line to find out what was going to change his world.

***

England stumbled back, chest heaving for breath. Scotland had caught his cheek on that swing. His eyes narrowed as Scotland laughed loudly, shifting lightly from foot to foot. It was fine. England had landed more hits. He raised his wrapped fists up, eyes flicking to the bruise on his older brother's chest. He hadn't meant to land that one that hard, it was similar to the one on Wales shoulder. He had gotten better than his older brothers. This wouldn't last long. They couldn't take over a whole ball room for a shirtless boxing match for too long.

The large doors opened, echoing in the wide space of the hall. Two voices accompanied the door, accents reminiscent of each other but not the same. They stopped as they saw what was going on.

Scotland completely abandoned the rules and grabbed England in a headlock. “The bell tolls, little brother.” England could see them now. The North American twins still by the door, Canada trying to get America to wait.

"Funny you should say that. I shall wait for your tap out." England grunted and struck Scotland’s knee, catching his brother off guard. Gentlemen don't always fight fair. The shift of weight gave him enough leverage to pull the larger man over his shoulder slamming him onto the floor, his own wings manifesting briefly to keep his balance. "You started it," he crowed and Scotland glared up at him before snorting into laughter. The palace couldn't support a magical battle right now, not with England's barriers weakened by the bombing, and he knew it.

He grabbed England briefly by the leg in an attempt to unbalance him, but then tapped him firmer than necessary on the calf. “Time to get back to work it seems. The boys no doubt need something. I’ll mop the floor with you next time.”

"I suppose." England pulled the man to his feet and looked to Canada and America. Wales sauntered over and handed the two nations their shirts. "Matthew, Alfred?" He began to button his shirt as he walked towards them.

“It’s done,” America said, voice sounding hollow. “Ink isn’t dry yet and there’s going to be a few days delay... but it’s done.”

England stopped several feet away from the pair and he could hear Scotland and Wales conversation stop. "Yes... well... it was inevitable."

“It was.” America ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve got a day. I don’t have to wear your uniform anymore.”

"Of course." England nodded and finished buttoning his shirt, remembering his hand wraps he set to those. He avoided America’s gaze, he could feel the heat of the younger nation’s stare. It was hard to miss when America was looking at him. "So you leave in the morning?"

“Yeah. I need to talk to the others though, too.” America’s attention was drawn to Canada as his brother stepped closer to him.

"Such as?"England's lips pursed.

“Just letting them know I’m in it.”

"You two shall be joining everyone for lunch so wait till then," England cut in, folding his wraps. He ignored the rapid fire discussion between his brothers in the old language. They were going to call Ireland who was set to arrive in three days time.

“Give me a sec,” Canada said to America, stepping away from him to walk closer to England. “He’s been talking about nothing else since he got off the phone. I thought I would check on him when I heard and...” He gestured to America.

"And?" England frowned.

“He’s planning something and won’t tell me what it is. Whatever it is I think it falls under the category of stupid.” Canada frowned at his brother, worry evident on his face.

"I'll talk to him."

“Thank you.” Canada was gestured to by Scotland and Wales and he stepped over to speak with them.

“Matt’s being Matt,” America said, shrugging.

"We are going to eat lunch with everyone and then are going back to the office and you are going to explain everything in detail."

“I just had an idea while I was on the phone with my boss. No big deal.”

"You can explain it or my pants stay on," he said flatly.

“You’re going to use sex to learn my plans?”

"I want no distractions so you might as well tell me now so we can get on with it." He stepped closer. "I could bring out the cuffs and riding crop if you liked?" England whispered into America’s ear.

America raised his eyebrows, cheeks flushing at the idea. “It’s just a plan to hit him back and it’s not anywhere near finalized.”

"That's everything?" England hummed. “You know I do have that little serum left. You remember it right?"

“That’s all I really have that’s worth sharing.”

"Really now?"

“I don’t even know if it’ll work yet. I have to tinker with it.”

England met his eyes. The edges of his eyes were still red from the tears he’d shed in his arms the night before, a purple bruising half-hidden by his glasses betrayed that he didn’t sleep as well as he claimed. If he’d truly slept at all when he’d lay there beside him. England stretched out his hand and hooked his fingers in the collar of America’s jacket. “Okay, love. Now go with Matthew, he said he was going to see Francis.”

America offered him a smile, a far cry from his truly happy one. England’s stomach turned. He would have to keep an eye on him. “See you at dinner, Arthur.”

“Yes, see you then.”

***

America smiled and talked all throughout dinner. It was as if the last two years of unsurety and isolating behavior lifted in a moment. Where he’d been willing to talk about anything else, now he addressed the war with aplomb. England could see it in more than one face. A cautious hope that if America could do all he was promising, the world may change.

It was only as they walked back toward England’s room, that America fell quiet, his fingers wrapping around England’s hand.

"You seemed to be enjoying yourself," England commented lightly.

“I feel like I can breathe now. Not last night, not this morning. But now.”

"Good." England nodded squeezing his hand. "That's one positive thing."

“I’m going to miss you.”

England frowned. "Yes, I don't like that."

“I know. We have one more night, I’ll do my best to beat him fast and then I can come back to you.”

"Don't do anything stupid."

“Hey, it’s me.” America squeezed his fingers when they got to the door.

"That's exactly why I say that." He looked to the door before looking back to America with a smile. "Well, it’s goodnight then I suppose."

“I’m not coming in?”

"You have guest chambers Master Jones." England arched a brow. "Same as they always have been."

“I like your room better.”

"Guest rooms, Master Jones." England's hands settled on his hips. "Same old, same old."

America stepped closer to him. “Times have changed though.”

"Perhaps, but this has not." England placed his hand on his chest. “It would be inappropriate for you to come into my room.”

“Good night then, Arthur.” America leaned forward to press a kiss to his cheek. England allowed it, his fingers pushing down a key into America's vest pocket.

"Good night, Master Jones."

***

America waited as long as he could stand before fishing the key out of his pocket and making his way to the door he hoped England had meant. That secret room that England shared with him. He pressed the key into the lock and it turned.

"You took your sweet time." England's voice drifted down the staircase.

“Didn’t want them to think to come looking for me,” America replied, making his way up. He could smell something sweet on the air, a soft glow at the top of the stairs.

England looked up from the long match he was using to light candles. He had changed from his officers uniform to a pair of well broken-in sleeping trousers and a shirt. Blankets had been gathered to form another pallet on the floor, stacks on stacks of books pushed along the wall to make room. "They'd do that anyways," England hummed, turning and picking up a bottle of wine and two glasses. The label was old and peeling from the bottle, America wondered exactly how old it was.

“I’m here now, sweetheart.” America shucked out of the dressing robe he’d been wearing to reveal a white undershirt and a pair of striped pajama pants. He dropped down onto the blankets, holding a hand out for his wine glass.

"Next time don't argue, Master Jones," England commented, filling the glass before handing it off. The wine was a deep red, the taste of the oak barrel accenting the rich flavor.

“Do you see me arguing, Lord Kirkland?” A smile flicked onto America’s face at England’s little intake of breath at the use of the word ‘lord’.

"Say that again I'm not sure I heard that proper," England breathed, lowering the wine bottle.

America looked at him over the rim of the wine glass, blue eyes guileless, but not innocent at all. “I said, do you see me arguing, _Lord_ Kirkland?”

England swallowed. "What I would give to hear you say that in public," he murmured.

“Maybe I’ll surprise you one of these days,” America said. He took another drink from his wine glass and sat it down on the floor, stretching out on the blankets. They were soft and America lay his arms over his head and relaxed into the plush.

"I guess I'll take what I can get." England settled down cross legged next to him, savoring the heavy red wine.

America watched him, taking in the way England’s eyes closed when he was enjoying the drink. He’d watched him drink wine for two centuries, but he’d never really _looked_. He wanted to memorize the details, wishing he’d done better in the past. England lowered the glass and stared at him for a moment.

"What is it, love?"

“Just taking you in.” America leaned up on his elbows. “And wondering about this scar right here, I can’t remember if you told me that story.” He reached up and touched a small white mark beneath England’s jaw.

"Ah, that's one of Francis's. An old one. I'm sure I've told you about it before. From my privateering days."

“I kind of wish I’d been older then. I don’t remember that version of you.”

England shrugged, tilting his head. "That's on purpose."

“Were you really that terrifying?” America wasn’t convinced.

"My enemies thought I was," England huffed. America sat up, scooting forward so he could take England in his arms. He pulled his back against his chest and rested his chin against his shoulder.

“Hmmm, you were kind of intense in the eighteenth century.”

"Kind of?” England snorted, rolling the wine around in his glass. "You have no idea, boy."

“I have some, considering most of my big scars are from you, but not of you prowling the high seas.” America smiled. “Did you ever have a parrot like in the movies?”

***

"Absolutely not. That is absurd," England scoffed. He had flying mint bunny. And then... he could also fly. He would love to show America that. It wouldn't end well. He felt a pang in his chest. He didn't know if he would ever get over the fact that he had half a life America would never see or accept. Sure the boy would see his wings, but England was terrified of his reaction to the presence of magic. He’d always been so grounded in logic.

“Why can’t things be absurd?” America mused. He pressed a kiss to England’s cheek.

"Your absurd and my absurd are two very different things," England murmured. That reminded him. Canada had just got his wings in the last plane battle. Falling through the air plummeting to one’s death was often a good prompt for those. He needed to train the boy how to use them properly. Especially if he was going to use them to help protect France.

“Only ‘cause no one takes me that seriously.” America was quiet for a moment, his breath brushing against England’s skin. “Do you think they will now?”

"Probably not at first." England shook his head. "But maybe later."

“I’ll just have to show ‘em.” America seemed to brighten back up. “But I don’t want to talk about that. I want to be here with you.”

"What do you want to talk about?" He pinched at the fabric of his trousers. He wanted to do it. He really really wanted it.

“Not the war. You sound like you’ve got something.” He pressed a kiss to England’s neck. “Tell me.”

"I..." England swallowed. "I..." his eyes darted to the drawer across the room. "It’s nothing."

“C’mon, whenever you say it’s nothing it’s always something. It’s just us in here.” America leaned over so he could reach his wine glass, one arm still loosely around England’s waist.

"I..." He took a deep breath. He could blame it on the wine later. "Alfred... do you remember when I was shot out of the sky and shouldn't have made it?"

America’s arm tightened at the memory. “I figured you had your parachute.”

"I did, but it failed." England turned in America's lap, cupping his face, thumbs sliding over his eyes to close them. He kissed Alfred slowly. It was easy to encircle two of them with a 12 foot wingspan, feathers running across the floor and high above them. A sigh of relief escaped him. He didn't get to stretch them out that often. If America didn't panic too badly he would have to be careful opening them so he didn't put out the candles.

America stilled. “What is that?” His hands slid up England’s back, fingers finding the feathers. He touched them slowly, his brow furrowing.

England leaned back wings extending full out, watching him silently for a moment. "My wings," he murmured.

America opened his eyes slowly, looking at England’s face at first. He turned his head, but confusion grew even further on his face. His fingers slipped from the feathers. “Wine must be going to my head...” He looked at England as though he were sure England was playing a game, a trick on him. “You have...” He reached out again and touched the long flight feathers.

England suddenly found he couldn't breathe. "Yes." He nodded with a shiver. "I do. When summoned." They pulled tight to his body for a moment before draping around them once more. He let out a breath. "You can see them..."

“Kinda hard to miss. But how...?”

"Let's not get into that tonight." England shook his head, feathers ruffling at the thought of how bad trying to explain would probably go. He swallowed. His were snow white while Canada’s had come in almost caramel in color.

“Can you fly?” America asked, his expression becoming quizzical as if he was trying to figure out how it would work. He continued to run England’s feathers through his fingers, amazed, clearly not sure if they were really there or if it was an elaborate illusion.

"Yes." England shivered once more,wings snapping out, toppling a stack of books. "That's how I made that crash."

America nodded. “It would be like seeing an angel fly,” he mused. His hands drifted to England’s waist, then up his sides to touch where the wings met his back. England could see him trying to puzzle it out, as if some notion of biology would allow such a thing to be. As though they themselves didn’t defy what science knew about the world.

England arched sharply with a gasp. "Don’t say that. Not an angel."

Hands stilling, America looked at his face. “Okay, not an angel. What does it feel like?” He watched the feelings stretch across England’s face as he stroked the soft feathers again.

"Good," he murmured, half lidded eyes slid over to the desk once more.

America turned his head to look. “What do you have?” His gaze didn’t rest there long, still drawn in by the part of England he’d never seen before and still couldn’t get his head wrapped around. England looked down at him, as if puzzling something out.

"If I ask for help would you give it?" He pulled his wings back, tight against his sides so he could focus. "There's oil... for the feathers in the drawer... some hard to reach places for me," he gestured to his back.

America smiled, he slid England off his lap so that he could get up and make his way over to the desk. England directed him to a drawer and America came back with the bottle, sitting down behind him. “Where do you want it?”

"It should be obvious... the ones in need of desperate attention." Embarrassment was thick in England's voice. "Normally Matthew helps but with the war..."

The silence that followed was only broken by the sound of the lid being unscrewed from the jar. America’s touch came first, smoothing over some of the more jagged feathers with deliberate strokes. “So you told Matt... but never me.” There was an implication in his voice. Hurt.

"It's part of his training, he needs to be able to handle his own," England defended himself.

“That’s not the point... this is... a big secret. Matt, too... who else has wings?” His hands were gentle despite the edge that had come into his voice.

"I apologize I didn't know how to break it to you." He shivered again, wings folding forward, an involuntary response to stress. “There are a few others, your brother... Francis had some before the crusades... but he lost them. A few more.”

“Arthur...” America paused, his fingers coming to England’s shoulders, squeezing gently to try and massage away the tense muscles. “It’s okay... I don’t even know if this is really happening or not... it just seems so... fantastic. In the old sense of the word, you know. I just don’t like the idea that you feel like you need to hide stuff from me.” He leaned forward and pressed his nose into England’s hair, gathering him close.

"Careful" England murmured as his wings were scrunched. "It's... it’s just stuff we don't agree on all right?"

America loosened his grip, going back to the feathers. “I don’t need you to agree with me all the time. We can trust each other even if we don’t agree. We don’t agree on a lot of stuff.”

"I know," England murmured, shuddering again. He peered over his shoulder to finally look at America. His pupils had blown wide with lust and it hit America in the stomach. Oh, it was that kind of good.

Swallowing, America slowed his touch, watching the desire warm England’s cheeks. He wondered how long it would take for England to lose the little bit of control he was hanging onto. He loved watching it slip. He scooted forward again, leaving space for England’s wings. He pressed a soft kiss to the shell of England’s ear, teasing with only the lightest touch.

"I wouldn't play that game tonight, boy," England warned.

“Hmmm.” The sound was unconcerned. “Turn around so I can get the feathers on this side.” He smoothed his hands over the top of England’s wings, feeling the quiver in the muscle.

"Bossy," England swiveled with ease. "I can put them away if you’d like."

“No, don’t.” America pulled him close and kissed him, quickly taking control of the kiss and looping his arms around England’s back.

A sound of surprise slipped from England, kissing the other back with delight. He hadn't expected that to go as well as it had. America leaned back just enough to struggle out of his shirt, wanting England’s hands on his skin. He leaned backwards, drawing England down on top of him...

***

The next morning was cold as they stood together at the airfield, the planes lined up in rows and ready to be deployed at a moment’s notice. England’s flight goggles felt heavy on his forehead as he watched America stride toward him with his luggage in hand. He really was leaving, the metal transport’s engines already humming to life for the first leg of the flight. America walked towards him, standing beside the hangar doors. The wind whipped through his hair.

America reached out, smoothing his hands over England’s flight gloves. He hooked his fingers between his. “I’m about to leave to go to war, Arthur. Everything’s about to change. It already has.” He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to England’s mouth. “I have to go, sweetheart. I’ll write to you.”

"I can’t convince you to stay another day?" England stared at him.

“If I’m in a room alone with you again... I’ll be late. I don’t think that bird is gonna wait for me.” America gave him a lop-sided smile. England frowned and stepped away, body rigid, arms crossing his chest. “I wish I could have seen you use those wings of yours.”

“You are choosing to miss that opportunity.”

“And here everyone laughed at me when I said I was going to invent a way to fly. And all along you had your own wings...”

“Whatever you want to say, Alfred, spit it out.” England pulled his hands back and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Does it bother you that Matt has wings and I don’t?”

"Does it bother..." England huffed. "Why would that matter?" He shook his head. How did he tell America that he could have had wings? That both he and Canada had had wings as young colonies. But America’s strong rejection and disbelief of the arcane closed all doors.

“That’s why I’m asking.”

"Nothing has changed Alfred" England clasped his hands around his cheeks. "You need to catch your flight. I don’t want you to go... you know that, but we’re having to get good at these.” He started to pull away, but America caught his wrists.

“That’s not how you do it.” America pulled him back into the shadows. “Kiss me, because it’s going to be the last time for a while. Kiss me like you don’t want to let me go.”

"You prat" England muttered looking away, moments passed before he was able to look up at the other, pulling him into a kiss. His fingers found purchase immediately in America's hair, rising on his tippy toes.

America wrapped his arms around England’s waist, lifting him up and kissing him back. He wanted England to feel how much he was going to miss him.

England sighed into the kiss softly.This was all too fast. America shouldn't travel yet. But he understood. "Alfred..."

America reached up to curl his fingers against England’s cheek. “I love you, Arthur.”

"I uh...” England stammered. That was very new in the grand scheme of things. He swallowed looking away. "I..." He looked to the ground. "iloveyoutoo." It was quick and under his breath, ears turning red.

America smiled, stepping forward and pressing a kiss to England’s forehead. He breathed in being close to him one more time and then pressed a kiss to his hair. He stepped away, as though he was afraid that lingering any longer would destroy his resolve.

"Well... get on then," England muttered, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Thanks.” America put one foot in front of the other to walk away from the airfield.

And from England.

The war had come at last.

“Godspeed, love,” England whispered, turning onto his own path.

***

_January 10, 1942_

_Liverpool, England_

The exposed brick wall of the living room shuddered beneath England's fingertips as he stood in the window. Liverpool was burning, the Germans dropping more bombs on his country. England swallowed, watching the empty streets from the top level apartment. His head throbbed relentlessly but it didn’t seem that he was going to pass out tonight. With a dry throat, England looked to the clouds once again before pulling himself up on the ledge.

It could be a rather stupid idea. Dismantling a plane in the middle of a bombing.

He was going to get himself killed. He was going to die.

Except not. He was a nation.

He couldn’t die.

Was it the bombing or the squeezing of his flight goggles on his forehead that was causing the headache? Probably a little of both.

He stretched his wings.

England peered down past his boots. He was only four stories up. Not much of a fall really. Would make jam out of someone if it went wrong. By the gods he was so tired. Tired of all of it. He just wanted a bloody nap.

He jumped.

***

_January 26, 1942_

_Belfast, England, UK_

England stood on the back porch of the small office building, watching the white clouds of his breath mingle with the smoke of his fag. The burning tip was red hot with the chill. Icicles hung large and threatening from the eaves of buildings, ignored by the multiple passersby scuttling back and forth going about their business.He looked up at the cloud thick sky. It was going to snow again.

When he looked back down at the street, someone was standing there looking back up at him. A young man had paused there, looking around. He was wearing a tawny uniform, similar to England’s own soldiers, but distinct in its design. The young man was just one of hundreds of American troops that were coming up from the docks finding their bunks. They came with more war material than England had seen in over a year. Now that they were allies, America appeared to be pulling out all of the stops. In a hasty telegram, it sounded like factories were being turned over at a remarkable rate to build things for the war.

America hadn’t said anything about coming with the first wave of troops. Only dropped a mention of some secret project that he couldn’t say more about. It made England uneasy to have someone standing there watching him. He had been on edge the whole war. "Yes, Lad?" He exhaled casually, lowering the cigarette. His gun was heavy on his hip.

“Sorry, sir, just taking it in. I’ve never been away from home before,” he said, a bashful grin stretching across his face. The southern accent gave England a pang. A shout from an officer got him back with the rest of the group, the others laughing at him for acting so small town. England could pick out the tones of other American accents. It felt strange. These troops were fresh and expecting an adventure, while his own were growing tired.

"Excuse me," England called after them. "Halt!" He barked as the officers gave him a look. He was in his officer’s uniform, but it took them a second to recognize a British uniform and they snapped to attention. He may not be their commanding officer but he was a commanding officer of the nation they were in. "I am looking for a Captain Alfred Jones. Has he come over with this unit?"

“Alfred Jones? Not my unit. But we’re setting up headquarters. Someone might know there.”

"Put a bug in ears, would you, that he needs to report to Royal headquarters.”

“Will do. Who should I say is looking for him?”

"Lord Kirkland." He crushed the end of the smoking strip underneath his boot, crushing a grin at the surprise on the faces of every unit member. He had no problem using his title. America would find him all the quicker. Being summoned by British nobility would start a wildfire of rumors.

***

It was late, most of the day staff had gone and the Admiralty was in between shifts. America strolled down the hall, he’d been here enough times before that no one questioned it now. Even if he was sporting the uniform of the US Army Air Corps. He shoved his hands in his pockets when he reached the door to England’s office that had been left ajar. He leaned in the frame, taking in England leaning over a stack of papers under an electric lamp. He looked well enough, no longer the sickly color he’d been through the long months of the Blitz.

“You should have heard the stir that came up when it got around that Lord Kirkland was looking for me. They all want to know if I’m some celebrity now.”

England looked up from his paperwork staring for a moment before slamming his pen down on the desk. The blond ignored the confused expression as he stalked around the desk coming towards him. England's hands fisted in America’s coat, yanking him from the door. The oak door slammed shut before America’s was shoved back against it.

Before America could say anything, England crushed his mouth against his own, bodies pressing tightly. America wrapped his arms around his waist and kissed him back, making a surprised sound when England bit his lower lip. He didn’t get a chance to protest before England stole his breath again.

"You," he gasped, pushing his hands through America's hair.

“Me?” America ran his hands up England’s back, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He hadn’t been expecting an arrival like this. England had been going back and forth to the fronts, he’d expected him tired and gentle. Not full of fire. Not that he minded one bit.

"Fuck me," England hissed, fingers snapping America’s belt.

America’s hands immediately went to England’s, their hands bumping together in an effort to be freed of their trousers. Once England got one leg free of his own, he tugged America toward the desk. America hoisted him up, pressing his mouth against England’s throat.

"Just fuck me," England hissed, nails scratching at America’s back as jackets hit the floor. It was a near violent escalation of events.

America tipped England onto the desk, their bodies coming together in a chorus of groans. “Fuck...” America grunted against England’s shirt. England dug his fingers into his shoulders until he began to move. The lamp tipped off the desk plunging them into shadows.

"Alfred!" England gasped, back arching sharply as he scrambled for purchase, neatly stacked papers crashing to the floor. A sliver of mortification swallowed by pleasure. "Fuck! Oh fuck!" Sentences dissolved into cries and moans. It was the cracking of the desk that sent him over the edge, making a mess of the two of them.

America followed him soon after, collapsing on top of him and what was left of the desk. He tried to gather his thoughts, but the warm feeling beneath his skin kept thoughts at bay. He hooked his fingers beneath England’s chin, wanting a kiss

"Hello, love," England breathed looking up at him with a tired smile.

America chuckled. “Hello.” He pressed a soft kiss to his mouth.

"Why didn't you come?"

“I’m here aren’t I? I wanted to make sure my guys were getting settled. I’m not getting on a plane until tomorrow morning.”

England slid his fingers through the other man's hair with a soft hum. "Well, I'm glad my message came through."

“I always get here.” America ran his fingers on the exposed skin of England’s stomach. “It seems like you’re doing better.”

"As well as I can."

“Well, once we get into Europe, things will move faster. Or are you still insisting we get into North Africa first?” It had been in the papers strewn across England’s desk and now toppled onto the floor. Strategies. Conversations. Plans that the American half of the Joint Command had come with and were now arguing about with the British half.

England arched a brow. "Apparently you weren't doing enough if you had time to read my documents."

“Nah, just recognized the official correspondence stamp at the top.” He picked up one of the sheets and held it up. “Same copy on my desk too.”

England yanked the paper out of his hand, and ripped in three. "No."

A bemused expression crossed America’s face. “No?”

"Not having a political conversation when you just had your cock in me and it's still out and about like a Sunday stroll," England huffed

“Is that a request for me to put it back in my pants?” He pressed a kiss to the corner of England’s frown.

"For now, yes, you can't bloody well leave it out for the walk to my hotel."

“It would be damn cold.” America laughed and climbed off him, offering him a hand up from the desk that now lay at a precarious angle.

"Very," England muttered, taking the hand with a grunt, rubbing at the small of his back. "I take it you are free for the rest of the evening?"

“Unless something changes.” America wrapped an arm around his back and rubbed at the spot England had been touching. He leaned forward to kiss his neck above his sweaty collar.

"Good. I've got an unopened bottle of wine waiting," he hummed leaning into the touch.

America made a soft sound, pressing a kiss to the shell of England’s ear. He pulled back slowly, then went over to his trousers. “Does the wine come with food?”

"If you desire. Whatever can be done with rations." England shrugged into his own pants.

America buckled his own, straightening his uniform shirt. He picked his coat up off the floor and shrugged into it. He examined the front of his uniform shirt and then buttoned the coat over the stain. “No worries. I’ve brought some stuff. I even brought a treat for you.”

"Oh?" England grabbed his cap and his briefcase, slipping all the papers into it with ease, murmuring a straightening charm.

America rifled through the top of his pack bag, pulling out a small wrapped package. He held it out to England and he could see the tell-tale packaging of a chocolate bar.

"Oh, you didn't," England breathed, taking the package. "That's contraband." He put his bag down to undo the wrapping.

America smiled. “You could always give it back. Here I was sharing my rations with you...”

England hugged it to his chest. "It’s bad form to give a gift and take it back. You know that."

“Then enjoy it, sweetheart.” America shouldered his bag. “I’ve added them to the army rations. For morale, you know.”

England slid his fingers over the wrapper before tucking it into his coat pocket. "That... is... thank you."

“I brought you some comic books, too. But I figured chocolate first.” He grinned at him and opened the door for England.

"Always," England murmured, stepping out and locking the door behind him. "The hotel is just four blocks down the way."

America shrugged. He watched the ebb and flow of the people around them. There were soldiers from both armies in their own lines, curiously eyeing each other as if the other were some exotic breed. “It’s funny to think that some of our people haven’t heard each other’s accents before.”

"How so? The last twenty years or so at least has been a war that you haven't truly been involved in."

“Yeah, but we were involved. New York and London were the first two cities to connect across an ocean with the telephone. But the rest of our people... you’re kind of still the big bad red coat in a way.” America shouldered his bag more securely. “I thought the pamphlets your boss sent me for approval were something. All about understanding each other. Ed Murrow, my radio guy, has been trying really hard to make connections.”

"Fantastic, really," England murmured.

“What?” America asked, looking at him.

"That I'm still the villain after all this damn time."

“Hey,” America caught his sleeve, stopping him. “I didn’t mean it like that and I don’t think they do either. It’s... looking for a connection, finding something familiar.”

"Hatred is often stronger than love," England took a deep draw on his new cigarette and exhaled, watching the curl of the smoke rather than looking at America. "It’s fine really. Normal."

“You’re not the villain. Not to me.” America leaned a little closer to him. “And it’s not gonna be long until our people care about each other, too.”

"You... yes, I suppose so." England dug a key out of his pocket. "Come on it's cold."

America followed him. The hotel was busy with comings and goings, military and personal. People bidding farewell to those that were being shipped out. Greeting those that had come home on leave. Emotions running high all around. America watched the back of England’s neck as he opened the hotel room door. He followed him in, catching England by the sleeve again as he pulled the door shut behind them. It was a much harder tug than what had been on the street, pulling England back against his chest. He pressed a kiss to the nape of England’s neck. “Does this place have a bathtub? I’ve been on a ship and could use a wash up.”

England melted into the embrace with a hum. "Just a shower, I'm afraid."

“What are the odds we can be in there for more than five minutes before we run out of hot water?”

"Not a clue to be honest." He shrugged.

“Wanna give it a try?”

"I..." he shook his head. "No, but you shower first and I shall hop in afterwards."

America drew back slightly. He couldn’t see England’s face from this angle. After the greeting he’d received he’d expected something more. Stepping away from England he walked deeper into the simple room. The large bed looked well worn in and there was a small table with chairs in the corner with an electric lamp. A few steps towards the coiled radiator changed the temperature in the room. America began to shrug out of his clothes, wondering if England would change his mind about joining him. He shivered slightly as he tugged his undershirt over his head after the coat and shirt had fallen onto the covers of the bed.

"There are extra towels under the sink I believe," England mentioned as he dropped his case on the table, shrugging out of his own coat to put it on the back of the chair.

America watched him sit down in the chair as he leaned down to unlace his boots. After pulling them off, he worked on his belt, trousers sliding down his hips. He tossed them onto the bed with little ceremony, standing there for a moment in his boxers. “Eat your chocolate, sweetheart, I’ll be back.” He made his way across the worn carpet to press a kiss to the top of England’s head.

"Hurry up and bathe." England prodded his side and opened his case purposefully.

America kissed him again and then left for the bathroom. The water hissed on. The door was slightly ajar, steam soon pouring into the room.

Crossing his legs England sorted through his papers, signing and sticking appropriate ones into envelopes. He would have to call in a man to deliver them. He fell into a methodical state as he made his way through the paperwork. He was vaguely aware of the shower turning off and he looked up as America stepped out. "Better?"

America had one towel wrapped around his waist and was using another to rub it over his hair. He squinted in England’s direction, having forgotten his glasses in the bathroom. “Washed the salt and sweat off.”

"Lovely."England sealed the last envelope and pushed away from the table. "I shall take my turn now."

America watched him go, dropping down onto the bed. “Want company?”

"Not necessary, I'll be quick. How about you open the bottle?" England stopped in the doorway of the bathroom before nodding and closing the door behind him.

America stared at the closed door for a moment. England didn’t even greet him before pulling him close. He couldn’t even think of it without getting a residual thrill, best save that thought for another time. He got up from the bed and went over to the bottle, looking around for a corkscrew.

Folding his clothes and placing them on the sink, England turned the shower on, waiting for it to heat quickly before stepping inside with a sigh of relief. He lost track of time between soap and hot water. When it began to grow cold he turned the squeaky handles. The towels were not as plush as his own at home but they would do. The air in the room was colder than the bathroom and he shivered a bit as he stepped back onto the carpet. "How's the wine?"

“I was waiting for you,” America said, from his place on the bed. He was bundled up in one of the blankets, the bottle of wine carefully tucked in a fold.

"How polite" he looked at his jacket, noticing his pocket was unbuttoned. His eyes narrowed. That was where he had been storing the chocolate bar. "Alfred..."

“Hmmm?” America gave him a curious look.

"I told you you couldn't take it back." He let the towel drop to the floor.

“Take what back?” America loosened his blanket so England could slide in beside him.

"The chocolate bar."

“You mean this one?” America reached over to the side table and picked up the familiar package. “It’s right here.”

"Tosser," England muttered, reaching for it.

America pulled it back. “Get in bed with me.”

"You-" England rolled his eyes. "You didn't have to bribe me." He climbed onto the bed and into the makeshift cocoon. "Happy?"

Relinquishing the chocolate, America snuggled against him. “Yes.”

"Good," England hummed and with gentle precision he peeled open the silver wrapper slowly. He would have to savor the treat. Pinching one of the small brown blocks he broke it off before popping it into his mouth. A soft noise of approval escaping.

America lifted up the wine bottle and took a sip from the mouth of it. He hadn’t bothered to bring the glasses from the table. He settled his chin on England’s shoulder and closed his eyes. “Happy?”

Dropping his head back to press a kiss to America’s cheek, England hummed in affirmation. Wrapping up the rest of the confectionery, England placed it on the nightstand before leaning fully into America’s embrace.

America adjusted, pulling England’s body to his chest. While he’d had thoughts of what he wanted to do with him once they were in bed together, he didn’t feel rushed. He wanted to hold him, breathe him in. America pressed a kiss to England’s shoulder.

"You seem tired," England hummed softly, taking the wine bottle.

“Pearl Harbor flipped a switch. My industrial output is growing fast and getting everyone ready to go. I’ve got to build stuff for all of the Allies. I’ve been having some meetings with Yao. We’re making a plan. It’s spreading me pretty thin.”

Reaching up, England's fingertips stroked America’s opposite cheek. "A growth spurt."

“Is that why you seem shorter?” America teased, smiling.

"You arse." England pinched at his belly. "And this is new."

America squirmed, grasping England’s fingers. “I’m not fat.”

"I didn't say that you were." England arched a brow. America met his eye, loosening his hold on England’s fingers. His fingers smoothed over England’s waist, the narrowness of it in stark contrast to his own.

“You usually say ‘new’ like it’s a bad thing. Like when you wrote me back about the new trucks I sent you.”

"Bedroom."

“Bedroom.” America turned England’s chin toward him. “We do need to talk about it before I leave though. But for now... kiss me?”

"As long as that's it," England hummed and pressed a soft kiss to America's mouth before pulling back, tucking his head beneath the taller nation's chin.

Taking back the wine bottle, America took another draw before pressing his nose into England’s hair. “I’m glad you weren’t at the front when I arrived.”

"Why's that?" England pulled his legs up, curling into America’s lap. Glad for all the warmth. He was always so damn cold these days. He took back the bottle.

“Because it means we can do this.” America wrapped England up against him, pulling the blankets more firmly over each of them.

"Well yes, that is a positive thing" England's fingertips traced along America's collar bone, comfortable with the silence that settled over the room. A sip. His lips finding the hollow of his throat gently.

“Although... I hope you’ll make room for me in your quarters when we are out there. I’ll do the same for you. There will always be a spot for you.” America tilted his head to the side, giving England more access to his skin.

"Of, " a kiss to America's throat, "course," his pulse, "I," underneath the chin, "will," the corner of his jaw, "love." One more behind the ear. A sip of wine.

America shuddered, a flush darting across his skin. He caught England’s chin with one hand and drew his mouth to his own. “Careful, sweetheart, you might get me too fired up.” His lips brushed against England’s as he spoke.

"Maybe that was the plan? Maybe not." England's lips twitched, drawing a finger along his sternum. Another sip of wine. America leaned up off the pillows towards his touch, a hum slipping out of his mouth. He pressed a soft kiss to England’s lips, before drawing away and moving to his jaw. He brushed his teeth against a spot beneath England’s ear.

"I can guess which one you are siding with," England breathed, hands sliding over his shoulders.

“That depends on what you do next.” America slid his hands down England’s sides and squeezed his hips, mouth brushing against his throat.

"I don't have enough energy in me for a bunch of ruckus." He leaned into the touch.

“No ruckus.” America hooked an arm around England’s waist and kissed England’s uplifted chin. “Just attention.”

"Attention I can do." Turning in the hold, England folded slim legs around America's waist, settling deeper into the hold.

“Good.” America smiled, lifting his head so that he could catch England’s lips with his own. He hoped England didn’t feel the small shake in his own limbs. He felt stretched. So many things pulled at his attention since the coin flipped. He was in a war that went across the entire globe. He had to reach across two oceans and there was only so much the others could give. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on the feeling of England’s body in his arms, the coolness of his skin, the way his fingers pressed against his flesh. Focus. This was all that mattered from now until morning.

England watched him for a moment, cheeks pink with wine as he took another sip, the bottle three quarters gone. Liquid courage. Reaching out of the blanket nest the bottle clicked as he set it on the table before pulling back inside. Pressing a kiss on the shell of America's ear, barely a whisper. "Make love to me."

America smoothed his hands over England’s back, a smile stretching his cheeks as warmth spread over his skin. He pressed a kiss to the side of England’s head, leaning up so he could tip England backwards. Pressing him into the mattress, he pulled the blanket over their heads, hiding them away from the entire world. It was soft touches, breathy whispers, fingertips exploring and reacquainting.Chest to chest, bellies brushing, hips fitting. Names gasped into the warm air of their cotton oasis.

By the time all was said and done, stickiness forced them to search for a cloth. England was in such a daze he couldn't hardly focus, warm and sated. Full to bursting every which way possible. "Alfred."

America’s head was on the pillow beside him, the place he’d chosen after he’d cleaned them up. He’d wrapped his arms back around England, his eyes closed. “Yeah?”

"Nothing." He lit a smoke with a hum of comfort, pointing his toes in a stretch. His shoulder blades itched.

“Give me a few hours and I’ll...” He yawned, snuggling against England’s side. His words trailed off and his breath began to even out into sleep.

"Mhm," England hummed watching as America slept. He stayed until his cigarette was gone. He would go for a quick scan of the skies, a habit that kept him from sleeping until fulfilled, and then he would come back. Although a bit messy during a molt. Slipping out of America's grasp he tucked him in tightly before slipping to the window, only passing to slip into trousers and a jacket. Hopefully, America would sleep through his absence. He whispered a silent prayer to that effect as he leapt out the window.

***

America reached in his sleep, something stirring his brain when his hands found nothing but more blankets. He opened his eyes, staring at the darkness of the room. No lamp on at the desk. No England sitting in the battered looking chair near the window. He pushed himself out of the blankets, shivering as he reached for his glasses. No note. Panic fluttered in his chest. “Arthur?” he said to the darkness, as though his eyes were lying to him.

"Didn't mean to wake you, the window ledge needs oiling." The voice came from the window and America's eyes flicked over to see England clutching on the outward extending glass panes, feathers folding back.

America stared at him. “Sometimes I have myself convinced that all that was just a dream.” He pushed back the blankets, an invitation for England to come back to his side. “Where have you been?”

England stared at him for a moment, appendages stretching out one more time before disappearing and climbing back into the room. The window closed behind him with a thought as he shed his clothes, quickly rejoining the warmth offered. "Checking the skies. I cannot sleep otherwise."

“You’re freezing.” America rubbed his arms over England’s skin, before settling on his upper shoulders. How did it work? Magic... he was more tired than he thought if he was buying into that.

"That happens," England murmured.

America could smell the sky on England’s hair, and the chill of winter clinging to him. The pounding of his heart began to quiet. He let out a long breath. “Don’t do that. Don’t leave without waking me, even if you’re coming back. ‘Cause we’re both in the war now... and one of us might not get back as quick as we think.”

"All right," England murmured, stroking America's cheek with the back of his fingers.

“Okay.” America tried to relax into his touch, to regain the feeling of comfort that he’d had just before waking. His brow furrowed as the thoughts that had been kept at bay flowed back into his mind.

"Alfred..." England murmured, pulling him into a kiss. "Again," he breathed. He needed to distract him.

“I have to leave again tomorrow.” America said between soft kisses.

"Exactly," England hummed. America rolled over him, taking England’s hands in his own and stretching their arms above their heads.

“You’ll stay this time?” America kissed him again. “I want to hold you until the sun rises.”

Staring up at him, England nodded. He had really hoped America would have remained asleep. It was just a quick check "I promise love. We have plenty of time, I was gone for less than an hour."

America looked into his eyes for a moment, then he nodded. He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to England’s mouth before brushing his lips over his cheek, jaw, to his throat. Shifting, he released England’s hands so he could press a kiss to his chest just over his heart. “When I win this war... you’re not leaving my bed for a week.”

"Really now?" England scoffed, shivering, hands gripping at the pillow on each side of his head.

“Yeah, when it’s all said and done. You’re mine. We’re going somewhere no one can find us for a little while.” He pressed another kiss to the center of England’s chest.

"Any ideas where?" England huffed, arching his back in a much needed stretch.

America thought for a moment, resting his head on England’s chest. “Alaska. No one will look for us there.”

“Cold? More cold?”

“No telephone. Unreliable postal system. Warm fire and warm blankets. You. Nobody else for miles.”

“I’m not sure... it would have to wait.” England sighed. “The amount of work that is required and needed after a war is immense. It is going to take years”

“I know that.”

“Are you sure you do?” England peered down at him.

“I feel like you’re gonna call ‘bedroom’ on me if I answer that.”

England glared at him. “Well one of us has to have the respect for personal spaces.”

America leaned up over him and kissed him, nipping his lower lip. He kissed him deeply, his fingers tangling in England’s hair. “I’m thinking of Alaska.”

“I don’t like that,” England panted as America pulled back for air.

“The kiss or Alaska?”

“You thinking about Alaska.”

“Why?” America’s eyes met his own.

“Because you shouldn’t be thinking of anything else besides right here,” England whispered, unable to hold his gaze for more than a couple of moments. Looking away in embarrassment.

America took his chin in one hand and pressed another kiss to his mouth. “I have a request too.”

"So needy." England breathed, fingers gripping the pillow under his head.

“Keep your hands right there.” America grinned at him for a moment, before leaning closer and pressed another kiss on him, stealing England’s breath.

"Why?" England gasped, one hand relaxing his grip to slide through America's hair.

“‘Cause I want you to just feel it all... I want you to...” America slid his hands down England’s sides, gripping his hips and sliding their bodies closer together. “Just let me love on you.”

"I..." England paused before nodding "All right." He sighed happily against the kiss pressed to his mouth.

***

It had been a long morning to get them up, dressed, and out of the room. America was sitting on the other side of England’s desk, his duffle on the floor beside his chair. The clock was ticking down the minutes before he needed to be back on a troop ship, readying to go home and pick up even more men for the European theater. England wasn’t looking at him, but frowning at one of the papers on his desk.

“We do have to talk about this. My generals aren’t happy with the plan.”

"Well that's rather unfortunate for them isn't it," England sniffed.

“That wasn’t the agreement. We’re a joint command. That means I have just as much authority as you.”

"I'm fully aware of that, Captain Jones." England's voice cooling with each word.

“Arthur, I’m not trying to pick a fight. It’s about the best way to get into Europe.”

"Once again, I am fully aware, Captain Jones." England sighed, flipping through the papers.

“Why won’t you consider the ideas?” America leaned over the table. “Or do you not think I know what I’m doing?”

"I never said that, Captain Jones."

“Then what’s wrong?” America leaned back in his seat, brow furrowing. “And can you stop calling me that?”

"I never said there was something wrong, _Captain._ " England set the papers down.

America sighed this time. “Then why are you making that face?”

"Maybe that's just my face," England said tightly. America stood up, walking around the desk until he stood behind England’s chair. He wrapped his arms around his stiff shoulders before he could protest.

“This is harder than I thought it would be.”

"We are working," England swallowed, wanting nothing but to relax into the hold but was afraid to.

America didn’t move. “We’re not going to be able to make any big moves until the summer anyway because I’m still building up my army. So, we can keep thinking about it. It would surprise them more if we just went for an invasion.”

"That is a thought," England acknowledged.

“Consider it. I’ll do my best to be there, but things are probably gonna move fast in the Pacific soon.” He took a deep breath, England unable to see his face.

"It's war, it will," England muttered.

“Yeah, and we gotta get back to it don’t we?”

"Yes, we do, Captain Jones," England said tightly as the click of boots coming down the hall sounded.

America released him, straightening his uniform as he walked back around the desk. “That’s probably for me.”

England leaned back in his chair, glancing at the clock. America would be leaving very soon. His fingers tightened over the arm of the chair.

“I should get ready.” America put his hands on the back of the empty chair across the desk.

"That would be the most appropriate course of action," England muttered getting to his feet. "I'll walk with you."

America waited for him at the door, catching England’s wrist as he reached for the door. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to England’s cheek. “Don’t want to leave on an argument.” He opened the door himself, letting England through first.

"You should've done it proper," England huffed, stepping out in the hall and nodding to the two men who had shown up to escort America. Silence followed them out onto the street which was a flurry of activity. "Drive or walk?" He pulled his cap on.

“Walk.” America pushed his hands into his pockets. There had been a moment that morning, right as the sun was starting to lighten the room. They’d been curled up in their blankets and England had clearly thought that he was still asleep. America had felt England’s fingers on his face, gently, as though he were tracing him. Old words had slipped out of his mouth, words too old for America to know the language. He’d wanted to ask him what it meant, but he didn’t want to break the moment. England’s body had been relaxed and warm in his arms and it wasn’t until he’d pressed his mouth against his that he’d been prompted to “wake.” “There’ll be more supplies coming. I hope I’ll be back by the summer.”

"That's several months from now." England commented fishing his silver case from his pocket. He could do with a drink.

“Yeah, but I’m going to... well, an unspecified location in the Pacific. It won’t be as easy to just come back.”

"Because that makes me feel better," England said dryly, shooting him a glance as they made it to the temporary American embassy.

“I’ll write. Wire up my own phone and call.” They moved into America’s office. “Not like you’re going to stay here and be safe no matter how much I want you to.”

"Not possible. I leave this afternoon." England shook his head, arching a brow at the chaos of men milling about.

“That’s what I thought.” America wove through the crowd, going towards one of the small rooms off to the side which must have been serving as a conference room. His rucksack was laying on the table, packed beside a satchel that had a few papers sitting out of the top. “I guess this is goodbye for now, then.”

England stopped at a respectable distance, glancing at all the men,before shoving his hand out to shake America's. The British officer uniform was catching attention. They usually didn't come this deep into the embassy. Especially one with the rank on his breast. So much for one last moment. He swallowed quietly. "Of course, Captain Jones. I wish you safe travels and all the luck in the world.”

America took his hand, squeezing firmly. He offered England a lopsided smile. “You better be in one piece when I get back.” His tone was joking, but worry underlay the words.

"The sun never sets on the British Empire."

“I’ll check on them for you in the Pacific.”

The deep breath England took was shaky. "My appreciation knows no bounds."

America swallowed, turning his head. The light reflecting on his glasses hid his eyes. “Goodbye, Ar-- Kirkland.”

England pulled his hand from America’s quickly. "Yes, good afternoon, Captain." Turning, he almost bumped into a younger man who stammered an apology, eyes flicking between the pair.

"Apologies Captain Jones and uh general-”

"It’s Lord," England corrected sharply before taking another breath before saying calmly. "You should know the rankings in the country you are stationed in. Good day." He pushed out of the room without another glance.

America watched him go. It took another minute before he realized that the aide was talking to him. He was whisked through questions and discussions all the way to the airfield, the decision that he needed to be home sooner rather than later. He looked out the window as best he could as the land fell away. “I love you,” America whispered to the last view of land, his voice drowned out by the engines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	13. Fly with Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are changing rapidly on the battlefield... and between them.

_April 18, 1942_

_Somewhere in Italy_

The room below was warmly lit with the yellow glow of lamplight, the upper window in the tall mansion’s parlor easy to push open. It was a cool night, but not so cold that the breeze would be noticeable to the inhabitants. England perched carefully in the oak tree outside the window, the plant towering high enough to reach. The heavy brocade curtains hadn’t been drawn. After all, who would dare spy on the occupants? England felt his mouth twitch at that thought. Carefully, his fingers pushed at the glass panel, a hint of magic slipping through and undoing the catch. With a whispered spell it was easy enough to hear what was going on below.

“It was so brave, ne?” Italy said, curled up on one cushion of a sitting couch and leaning on the arm. He smiled at the other two occupants of the room. He yawned sleepily, glancing at the clock on the mantle.

“You should have waited to consult with us. We don’t have good information on what the Americans do or do not have. Not to mention, he was...” Germany stopped when Italy reached out and touched his arm. He frowned deeply and Italy pulled his hand back like he was worried about being bitten.

“I did what I had to do.” Japan sat with his back straight in the armchair nearest the large mantle that dominated the room, a painting of an old battlefield settled above it. “I determined that I could no longer wait, otherwise I would have been in a weakened position. Let me worry about Alfred.”

“I think you underestimate him, Kiku. Remember who he took down in the past,” Germany pointed out.

In the window England’s jaw clenched. He hated those reminders He was three months away from his yearly blackouts. He didn’t need to be reminded.

“I think you are being too cautious with him. He’s young and impetuous. Unlike Arthur, I’m not sentimental.”

“Oh, scary...” Italy said, looking between the other two. “But Ludwig says that we don’t know his full strength...”

“He’s young which makes him more dangerous, hes not going to be tactful or smart. And he’s angry. That makes it even worse. “

“I destroyed half of his fleet in one decisive stroke. Alfred is arrogant. He hasn’t been able to retaliate in months since it happened. Just made a lot of noise.”

“Alfred is the second nation we were worried about joining in. The only one we were more afraid of dealing with was Arthur. We bombed him for months and he is still fighting back. That’s who raised Alfred.”

“To a point.” Japan stood up and walked toward the window, England froze. Japan looked out into the darkness, hands clasped behind his back. “Your failure to finish off Arthur is not my problem.”

“It will be when he gets his feet underneath him.” Germany argued. “He is the British Empire. You are trying to take nations that he has interest in. We both know Alfred will back him.”

“I’ll keep him busy.” Japan turned back to the other two. He started to walk back toward the seats, where Germany had sat down beside Italy. “I...” He paused, raising a hand to his face. The others looked concerned, but England couldn’t see Japan’s face. A curse slipped out of Japan’s mouth.

“Is it Yao?” Italy asked, concern crossing his face as he got up to hover at Japan’s side.

“No, it’s... how?” Japan turned away from him and for a split moment, England could see the reaction that Japan didn’t want the others to see. Fear. And the drop of blood that appeared on his upper lip. England recognized it immediately... Japan was being bombed. He tried to school his expression into something more controlled. “If you will excuse me, I need a moment.”

“Of course...” Italy said, his hands nervously tugging at the hem of his own uniform shirt as he watched Japan go. “Ludwig...” he said, looking back at the other nation.

"It’s not Yao, Alfred somehow got to his main land.”

Italy walked over to him. “Is Alfred really that scary? My brother lived with him for a little while... he seemed to like him.”

"No... _ja_. Anyone can be if they get angry enough." Blue eyes settled on Italy. Conflicting emotions. Italy sat back down beside him, leaning heavily into the larger nation’s side. A vulnerability appeared in Germany’s face. It took a moment, but he awkwardly settled an arm around Italy’s back.

“And Kiku made him that angry, ve?”

"I think so." Germany nodded, pinching the bridge of his nose. "And in turn probably enraged Arthur once more."

“Arthur is scary.” Italy shuddered. “But you are scarier than both of them.” Italy smiled up at him, affection in his face. He reached up and brushed his fingers gently on Germany’s cheek. A tentative touch, like he wasn’t certain if it would be allowed.

"You're scared of me?"

“Sometimes, _patatino._ But not so scared I don’t want to be with you.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Germany’s cheek.

"You are so flamboyant." Germany's exasperated sigh was tempered with a small smile.

"Figured." England shifted on the branch, knees protesting at the prolonged crouched position. He hadn't learned much. Except Germany certainly had a personal weak spot. And that America had managed to do something to strike back at Japan. Probably something stupid. The idiot better not have gotten himself hurt...

Italy twined his fingers into the front of Germany’s uniform, a little more daring now that he hadn’t been admonished. “You’ll protect me, right?” Germany turned to look at him, but before he could respond, the door opened again and Japan came back, a few crimson splotches on his white uniform and a handkerchief pressed to his face. He looked disheveled, enough to alarm the other two.

“It is possible the Americans have gotten to Tokyo. There is damage to my factories.”

“From the Chinese mainland?”

“No. Initial reports think they launched from aircraft carriers.”

“You can’t launch a bomber from an aircraft carrier, they’re too heavy,” Italy said, confusion on his face as he looked between the other two who were now lost in thought. “Ludwig? Do you think he could do that?”

Germany hesitated. "Threaten him. I'll see what happens if my leaders will turn more pressure on Arthur. Maybe he will panic and spread his forces out." England’s head throbbed.

“It’s possible I may be able to move up one of my plans,” Japan said, his eyes unreadable. “Do you think you can put more pressure on Arthur with Ivan occupying your eastern front?”

Germany’s jaw clenched and Italy fluttered with nerves. “Oh, where will you attack him, Kiku?”

“Another base. I will not say more at the moment as I can not guarantee that it will occur. I will retire for today and travel back home tomorrow. _Oyasuminasai._ ” Japan bowed to the pair.

“ _Gute nacht._ ”

“ _Buona notte._ ”

England backed away on the branch. America was going to get attacked again... that was inevitable, but if they could find more information... Japan had not said when or where. He was careful... did he know they were being overheard? England stretched his wings and whispered a cloaking spell.

Better not risk finding out.

***

_May 2, 1942_

_London, England_

_0900_

England had been more than happy to loan out his personal home during the blitz but he was ever so glad to get it back. Although the bombing had not stopped completely, it was much better than it had been. He relished the privacy and the comfort of his own space. His chambers at the palace had, and always would be, home, but the level of privacy here was something sacred. Especially with his own private tea stash carefully rationed.

A fire chattered low and lazy in the fireplace, the morning still chilly. He has left his work upstairs in his study and favored a book with breakfast. His armchair was much more comfortable for him and little Sealand. The blond boy, appearing about two years of age, slept unabashedly in his lap, allowed England the time to read a novel, stealing warmth from him and his house robe. A car pulling up the drive called his attention.

“Is this it?” The tone of an adolescent boy floated through the window. A tone that England recognized.

A laugh, one so familiar to England that it made his heart leap in his throat. “It looked nicer before, but you’ll be safer here than back home.”

“The old guy didn’t think so.”

“Yeah, well, Yao’s not your only big brother.” A knock sounded at the front door. 

England swallowed, glancing at Sealand. The boy could sleep through anything. Putting down the book and scooping up the boy England slipped over to the door. He swore he had given America the key. Pulling it open, he fixed a scowl on his face to mask his excitement. "You know better, you are supposed to call ahead."

“I wanted to surprise you...” America trailed off, a confused expression landing on his face as he took in the boy in England’s arms. Hong Kong pushed his way past him. He looked roughly twelve years old by human standards.

“He rescued me,” Hong Kong said, fixing England with a stare and gesturing at America. His expression was unreadable.

"Leon," England breathed, staring down at the boy who was but a few inches shorter than he was. "I heard..." It took but a moment before England pulled Hong Kong into a one armed hug, squeezing tightly, hand pressing into his air. "You're safe!"

Hong Kong hunched his shoulders. “You’re smothering me...”

"Let me for just another moment," England protested. "I was terrified... but you’re here thank goodness."

“It wasn’t easy.” America patted Hong Kong on the head which earned an eye roll.

“Yeah, he totally evaded the entire Japanese Army when he tells the story,” Hong Kong mumbled into England’s shirt.

England pulled back, glancing at America before returning his attention back to the smaller brunette. He brushed Hong Kong’s hair from his face. "Come inside, you’re looking thin. Let me get you something to eat."

“I’ll stay thin,” Hong Kong mumbled. “I’m tired, can I sleep?”

"Yes, of course." England straightened, ushering them inside and looked to America hesitating. "Can you take Peter so I can get Leon situated?"

“Uh... I guess?” America held out his arms for the child.

England smiled handing over the toddler. "He just went down, an earthquake wouldn't wake him for hours yet. Make yourself at home." He nodded and gestured for Hong Kong to follow him upstairs. "Come this way Leon, I'll show you to the guest room."

When England came back downstairs, America had taken a seat on the couch. His eyes were closed as he leaned against the back, Sealand snoring into his uniform jacket.

"Thank you for bringing him," England murmured. Once they had been in private England sat on the bed only to have a lap full of a tired Hong Kong, crying. War was terrifying. And once the colony was behind closed doors and didn't have to show a big front it cracked. It didn't take long before he had tired himself out.

America looked at him. “He’d done a pretty good job of hiding. I wish I could have grabbed more of ‘em. I wrote to Jett, he said some ran to his house... the rest...” Frustration crossed his face for a moment and then looked down at Sealand as the boy twitched in his sleep. “Who is this little guy?”

"Peter... or Sealand."England leaned over and lifted the small child."It's complicated. I'm not sure why he has popped up. Means people are having ideas. Even absurd ones."

“Is that even a place?” America asked. He watched England as he moved back to his armchair. “Did you hear about what I pulled off? I wish I could have seen his face when I hit Tokyo right under his nose.”

"I did. It was... effective." England pulled the blanket off the arm to drape it over the smaller nation.

“I lost all but one plane, but...” He paused. “Oh, Yao is here, I mean not _here_ at your house, but at headquarters. He wants to talk to everyone.”

"That can wait." England eyed him. "You look dead on your feet, perhaps you should turn in as well."

“Yeah, I’ve been dodging Kiku’s soldiers through Yao’s countryside until I got far enough away. You know after the plane ran out of fuel and crashed. ” He yawned. “A bed wouldn’t be so bad...” A bigger yawn.

"You know where my room is."

America made a sleepy sound of assent as he pushed himself out of his seat. He walked over to England, his fingers hooking beneath England’s chin so he could lift his head up. He kissed him gently. “I didn’t say hello yet.”

"I noticed." England peered up at him through dark lashes. "Hello, love." He shifted Sealand and leaned up, pressing another kiss to America’s mouth.

America sighed happily, his shoulders losing some of their rigidity. “Still in one piece,” he said.

"Of course," England hummed, sliding his fingers through America's hair, scratching gently at his scalp. "Go on now."

“You’re making that hard.” America pressed a kiss to the tip of England’s nose. “I want you to come with me.”

"You must sleep," England chided as he stood eagerly. He didn't have to be told twice. Sealand shifted in protest at the movement.

America glanced down at Sealand and then back to England’s face. “I plan to... _when_ is up to you.” He gave him a smile.

England arched a brow. "Oh don't you get cocky. My trousers are staying on."

“You say that now.” America started for the stairs.

"Oh, and I'll say it later," England said firmly as he followed America up, locking his front door with a snap of his fingers. As they slipped into the room England closed the door gently behind them. "You refused to sleep in your own bed until you looked about eight. Many colonies are the same." He shot him a pointed look.

America paused in the doorway to the bedroom. “So you’re saying he doesn’t have somewhere else to sleep. Or that you’re less willing to tell him to go play in the woods than you were with me and Matt.”

"You and Matthew shared my bed for years, far older than Peter is now," England sniffed, moving to the green blanketed bed. With one hand he pulled back the sheets to lay the child beneath them, huffing slightly at the hand that wouldn't relinquish his sleeve. Glancing up at America, England sighed. "Don't pout."

“Yeah, well, Matt and I got used to being alone. It was nice to have you around. We wanted to make sure you couldn’t slip out on us.” He gave him a teasing smile. “And I’m not pouting. Just sore.” America shrugged out of his jacket, a wince flashing across his face. He tried to hide it by looking away.

"What did you do?" England frowned, undoing Sealand’s grip to walk back around the bed.

“Told you. Crashed. It’s not that bad.” America sat on the edge of the bed to untie his boots.

"Right..." England murmured, sitting on the bed next to him.

America kicked off his boots with a sigh of relief. “We had to take off before we were close enough because my carriers got spotted by the navy. The plan had been to land far enough inland that the Japanese Army hadn’t gotten that far. Barely made it to land at all. Had to bring them down any way we could.”

England reached over and brushed a stray strand of hair from America's forehead. "I've been following as closely as possible. Although... my intelligence didn’t tell me you were planning something so insane."

“It’s been a long time since I’ve attacked someone else when I wasn’t just defending something...” His jaw clenched. “Did you hear what happened in Bataan? I don’t understand how Kiku...”

"Bedroom."

America nodded, wrapping an arm around England’s back and pulling him closer. He pressed a kiss to his hair. “How are you holding up?”

"I am here. Tired, but fine." England threaded his fingers with America’s free hand.

“I’m glad you’re here.” America mumbled into his hair, fingers tightening around England’s hand.

"You need sleep, love," England murmured. "Come now, lie down."

“Yeah, we’ll talk when I wake up...” He released England so he could pull his legs up onto the bed, snuggling into the pillow. He pulled his glasses off his face and dropped them onto the nightstand.

England arched a brow. "All right then." It looked like there was going to be a Sealand sandwich. Alfred was always a sprawler. As England stood up from his seat, America shifted and wrapped his arms around his waist.

“Here,” he grumbled against England’s lower back.

"Ah," England hummed with a smile. "But I'll have to sleep in the middle. I don't want to see what will happen if Peter wakes and sees you first."

“Deal.” America released him so he could climb over him and get beneath the blankets. He made to wrap up around England again.

Snatching the book from the bedside table England slipped into the middle of the two with a hum. It was late morning. He hadn't been up that long.

"There how's that?"

America lay his head down on his lap, throwing an arm over his legs. “I’ll take what I can get right now.” He yawned.

"Oh, you're settling, huh?" England snorted.

“Nah, planning a new offensive. It’s gonna involve backup.”

"Well, you can tell me about it later."

America made an amused sound. “It’s against your assertion that your trousers will stay on. You’ll know when I’m successful.”

"Alfred!" England hissed bopping him on the head with his book lightly. "Peter is in this bed!"

“That’s why there is backup involved. Someone’s gotta be willing to babysit.”

"Honestly." England rolled his eyes. "Go to sleep."

“Working on it.” America slowly relaxed against his side, adjusting until he was comfortable.

Holding the book with one hand, England’s free hand made its way into America's hair sliding through the strands, stroking his head. Settling on a random tune to hum. America’s body became a warm weight against his leg, his breath becoming more even as the exhaustion dragged him under.

It was early afternoon before the American moved again. England wasn't surprised that Sealand had continued to sleep. The small colony, of sorts, slept a lot. Probably because of the war. England had not heard any movement from the guest room which meant that Hong Kong was still out like a light. Lowering the nearly finished book, England peered down at America. "Good afternoon, sleepy head."

America stretched, rolling onto his back. “I needed that.” He gave England a sleepy smile.

"I could tell, if I didn't know any better I would have expected you to have been dead." He put his bookmark in place and leaned over the man to place it on the table.

“Well, hopefully you would have thrown me a good funeral,” America teased back. “Make sure you put my flag on the casket the right way.”

"Oh, shove off, prat." England rolled his eyes. "My you are insufferable at times."

America grinned at him. “But you love me anyway.”

England pinked, scowled and looked away. "Sod off."

“Wait.” America leaned up, fingers hooking into the collar of England’s robe. He leaned in andpressed a kiss to the corner of England’s mouth. “Is there anything to eat?”

"There is, I can go make some." England looked down at him. "But you can't eat until you kiss me for real," he said quietly.

With a smile, America sat up, cupping England’s cheeks. He leaned forward, pressing his mouth against England’s. A hum escaped the British male, all but meltinginto the kiss. The warmth from time spent in bed mimicking very closely that little favorite part of America's day. When England was warm and pliable with sleep, not quite awake yet. Not concerned with appearances or insecurities. Soft touches and loving smiles. England murmured his name quietly into the kiss, hands pressing into America's thighs for leverage.

The rest of the world and all of the pain that threatened to stick him anew every time he thought about it disappeared. His fingers slipped down the side of England’s neck, curling into his robe again. He hoisted England a little closer, wanting more of him. England didn't fight him, moving easily with the pull, crawling into America's lap clumsily so as to not break the kiss, his fingers digging into his hips.

A breathy sigh escaped England’s lips. "Alfred."

America hooked his hands under his thighs. He shifted, getting a foot on the floor and then hoisting them both out of the bed, leaving the blankets, and the sleeping Sealand, behind. He hauled England through the side door into the bathroom, pressing him against the wall. “Now really kiss me,” America whispered.

"Finally," England gasped, kissing him hard, hands raking through his hair. His legs folded around America's waist. America yanked at the belt of his house robe, getting a hand beneath the fabric. He met England in the kiss, only letting him pull back when they were both gasping for breath. He didn’t miss a beat, pressing his mouth to the crook of England’s neck, tasting his skin.

"Fuck, yes," England moaned against America’s shoulder, one hand dipping between them to undo Americas belt. The move had become second nature and soon the clink of metal hitting wooden floorboards followed by the hiss of fabric filled room. England hummed in satisfaction.

“What was that about trousers?” America whispered hotly into his ear. He hoisted England a little higher, adjusting his grip.

"I never technically had them on!" He gasped, arching sharply, fingernails scratching at America’s shoulders. "Fuck," he hissed, words dissolving as the blue eyed blond grinned. A thud sounded from the other room followed by the sound of a small child waking. They froze.

"Artur?" A small voice called through the bathroom door.

“Shit!” America hissed. He put England on his feet and grabbed for his trousers, nearly tripping into the sink as he pulled them on. England swallowed a laugh and tied off his robe.

"Just a moment, Peter. I'm showing our guest where the bath towel is. Get back under the covers so we can read one of your books," England called out and there was a noise of excitement before the noise of someone too short hauling themselves onto the bed.

America leaned against the sink. “That was close.”

"I told you." England frowned, crossing his arms and eyeing the front of America's trousers. "You can't go out there like that."

“You’re not much better.” America gripped the edge of the counter. “Go... take care of the kid. I’ll take a shower.”

"Yes." England closed the distance between them to steal one more kiss. "Meet us downstairs when you are ready. I need to get him dressed."

“See you in a few, sweetheart.” America reluctantly released him.

***

America lingered upstairs longer than necessary. He could still feel the mortification in his chest as he came down the stairs and found England in the kitchen.

England was watching Sealand sit at the table chewing on toast and preserves. The elder of the pair leaned against the counter next to the stove where a kettle was heating. Two sets of eyes flicked to America as he entered.

“What’s for lunch?” America asked, pulling out a seat at the table. He wanted to go to England and press a kiss on his cheek, but it didn’t feel right with the current audience.

"Well..." England scratched at his cheek. "Toast and marmalade for starters... I think I have some butter still... and I think I still have some salted beef in the larder."

America looked at the little boy who was staring back at him. “Hi Peter. I’m Alfred.”

The boy stared at him for a moment before sticking his tongue out at him.

"Peter!" England admonished straightening to get the bread loaf.

America laughed. “What’s that for?”

"I don't like you," Sealand huffed and England pinched the boy's ear, ignoring the cry of distress.

"Where did your manners go, young man?!"

“Why don’t you like me?” America leaned his elbows on the table.

"You are messy." Sealand frowned

“Messy?” America gave England an amused look.

"In the way."

America chuckled again and then leapt up as black smoke burst from the stove where England had been browning the toast in an old fashioned toasting grate. When the smoke was cleared through an open window, America said, “What happened to the toaster I sent you?”

"The damned thing caught on fire!" England cried, shuffling Sealand and his toast to the front room.

“Well, when the war is over I’ll get you a new one.” America coughed. “Let me see what else we can pull together.”

"I don’t need a new one."

“The new ones pop up when the toast is done.”

"What does that have to do with anything?" England frowned as he rejoined America in the kitchen after getting sealand situated

“You can’t burn the toast, because when it’s toasted it pops up. It’s Arthur-proof.” America looked at him. “You have soot.” He reached up and brushed it off his cheek.

"It wasn't my fault." He scowled.

“Go settle in with Peter. I’ll whip something up.”

"No," England shook his head.

“I know how to cook too, you know.”

"It’s my kitchen."

“Haven’t you told me to make myself at home?”

"Exactly." England crossed his arms stepping close enough he had to look up at him. "I give Peter ninety seconds before he comes looking for me."

America’s eyes widened as England put his hands on his chest, but then he pulled him close. A stolen kiss he could give.

"A little slow on the uptake," England chuckled, sliding his hands through America's hair and pulling him down to kiss him. America wrapped an arm around his waist and kissed him back.

“You need a babysitter before I go back to the front.” America pressed another kiss on him. “I need you before I go back there...”

"No promises, love. Who else is going to watch a small colony?" England whispered, kissing him again.

“Not leaving without...” He wrapped his arms firmly around England’s waist, lifting him up onto his tiptoes. He released him just in time as the small colony in question wandered around through the door.

"Can you watch Peter while I go up and check on Leon, love?" England looked at the small boy who had a scowl on his face.

“Sure, I’ll make him something to eat.” America smiled at Sealand who peered at him unconvinced.

"Lovely." England smiled and patted America's forearm and straightened Sealand’s hair before slipping from the kitchen. The stairs creaked in a familiar way as England walked upstairs, muscle memory making the journey effortless. Within a moment he was ducking into the guest room Leon was currently occupying. The boy hadn't moved an inch, remaining dead to the world even as England settled onto the edge of the bed. He needed his sleep.

But he also needed to eat, he could continue sleeping after that. Tucking back a chunk of black hair that had fallen across the boy’s face, England smiled. To this day he didn't get to see his colonies grow as much as he wished he could. It was a lot to juggle when running an Empire. "Leon, love, time to eat."

“Are you cooking?” He blinked blearily up at him, rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Leon looked at him. “Did you catch fire or something?” He pointed to the soot that was still smeared across England’s cheek.

"I did not. Hush you." England scowled.

“Is Alfred still here?”

"Yes," England sighed.

Hong Kong squinted at him. “He’s kind of weird, but... he did help me get here.”

"Yes... he is weird... but he has a good heart." A soft smile lifted his lips before he shoved it down. "Now, let's get you up, your hair’s a mess we should comb it before you head down."

"It's fine," Hong Kong mumbled, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, but didn't make another noise of protest as England pushed to his feet to dip into the water closet for a comb. An easy silence blanketed the room as England stepped in front of the teenage boy and began combing through the dark locks.

"You're growing it out," England commented as he slid the comb through the thick straight hair, so much more manageable than his own. "Although I should trim up the ends to even them"

"It's fine." It wasn't even a true protest, Hong Kong's posture suffering as he slumped forward, forehead pressing into England's belly.

"Of course. But humor me. We are going to the palace this evening." He tucked the strands of hair behind the boy's ears before pulling the colony into a hug. "I've got you," he murmured. A small voice screeched up the stairs, Sealand’s impatience winning out. Pulling back, England smiled at the boy with a sigh. "Well, that's our cue, Leon. Let's get a small bite and then a cuppa."

The Asian nation and got up rubbing at his cheeks before following England downstairs.

“C’mon, Peter, you’re all right.” England came around the corner to find Sealand in America’s arms, a frown on the little boy’s face.

"What's going on?" England frowned.

“Little guy was worried you had left.”

"Oh, I wouldn't do that" England murmured, gesturing for America to hand him over.

America stepped forward, holding him out. “We’re all holding you to that.”

England stared at America hard as he took Peter. "It was less than an hour."

“I told him you wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.” America offered him a peace-making smile and looked at Hong Kong. “So what’ll it be, kid? It’s still rations, but not army rations this time ‘round.”

"I really don't have much. We should head to the palace for a proper meal," England huffed.

“I might have had some snacks delivered there.” America stepped back to lean against the stove. It had been upgraded to an electric one, but England wasn’t altogether comfortable with it. “Although it is homier here... and more intact than the rest of the city.”

"Yes, it is," England murmured wistfully, glancing at his living room that housed a small portion of his personal library.

“We could always go and get some food and then come back?” Hong Kong muttered, shrugging.

"At that rate, I'll just have George deliver it,"England murmured as if the idea just struck him. America smiled at him.

“Do you want to give him a ring? Peter, Leon, and I’ll listen to the radio for a few.” He offered to take the child back.

"Brilliant." England shook his head at America before setting Sealand down. Leaving the trio in the kitchen, he popped into the hall to find his telephone. He had one errand to run, but it didn't seem like it was going to happen anymore. Instead, he was going to make this quick call and that was that.

When England came back into the room, he caught sight of Hong Kong leaning on the counter next to America. They were talking, and Hong Kong even cracked a momentary smile at something America had said. Sealand was sitting, arms crossed, where England had left him. America hadn’t seen him and he kneeled down to try and talk to Sealand again, the toddler frowning at him.

"Well none of you are fighting so that's nice." England commented lightly, announcing his presence.

“Leon and I did just fine on the way out here,” America said, standing up and then throwing an arm around the teen’s neck, pulling him into a headlock.

"Well that's good" England hummed, shaking his head when Sealand shot America an uncertain look. The small nation was oddly shy, and oddly loud about it. "George is on his way."

“What’s he bringing?” Hong Kong asked, trying to worm his way out of America’s grip.

"Whatever he can, I am not quite sure" England shook his head and gestured at the house robe he was still wearing. He still hadn't had a chance to dress. "I need to wash up quickly before he arrives."

The group nodded, America catching England’s eye with a questioning expression. England had just turned on the water to the shower when he heard a knock on the door.

"Yes, what is it?" England smothered the grin in his voice, running a cloth over his soap bar. He had expected this, hoped the other would finagle something not too obvious.

“Leon is watching Peter.” America stepped into the room and England could see him shrugging out of his shirt through the gap in the shower curtain.

"You think that's wise?" England slid the cloth over his arms.

“The kid watching the kid, or me getting in the shower with you?”

"Perhaps both," England hummed, rubbing the cloth over his belly. "I am about to be quite busy."

America’s clothes rustled. “Busy with what?”

"I can give you three guesses," England murmured leaning back against the wall.

The shower curtain slid back. “How about settling in the arriving American troops.” America offered him a smile.

England's triumphant grin froze and he stared at the other. The loud laugh surprised even him, doubling over. "Oh my-that was awful!" He snorted.

“What? If anyone asks...” He reached for England and tugged him forward. “I got hopelessly lost between Belfast and London.” He ran a finger down England’s ribs.

"Oh really?" England shuddered under the caress, laughter suddenly gone. "Well, then you'd have to start making your way to where you are supposed to be."

Wrapping his arm around England’s waist, he pressed a kiss to the side of England’s neck. “London is south of here.”

"So you have to go south." England's fingernails scratched across America’s scalp. "Does that mean you'll get an accent?"

“I’ve always got one for you, dah’lin’.” The humm of Tennessee flowed into England’s ear. He brushed his tongue along the curve of England’s ear.

"Fuck, yes." England groaned. "We don't have much time." The heat against his thigh lifted another grin. "Apparently that's not going to be a problem."

“Turn around, I wanna try something.” He pressed a kiss against England’s jaw.

"Why, I can't kiss you then."England protested. America pressed their mouths together, kissing him hard.

“Kiss me, then.” He barely gave England a moment to catch his breath, hitching one of England’s legs up against his hip. England’s tongue twined with his, arms wrapping tightly behind America's neck, his other leg coming up to wrap around America's waist. Trusting the other to hold him up completely. Between them and the heat from the water the bathroom fogged rapidly. England buried a cry against America's throat.

"Couldn't wait to put your cock in me could you?" His teeth found America's pulse.

America groaned, shifting England so he could get a better angle. “I waited plenty. Let’s not waste a second.”

***

_At the palace..._

America leaned forward and kissed England on the forehead as he straightened his tie. It had been a chaotic morning, Sealand tugging at England’s attention every five minutes. But now it was time to go to work. The bubble of domesticity popped with the idea of discussing the war once again. “Let’s go get this meeting over with.” America took England by the hand and they walked down the hallway together for a time, America filling him in on the operations he’d been a part of since he’d joined the war. “Yao is holding his own, but he’s getting messed up... it’s ugly over there, Arthur... not that it’s not ugly here too. It’s just... I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it and I’m just getting started.”

“It’s war, Alfred,” England murmured. “You missed much from the first one and this one, with the humans increasing their study and the creation of war technology is just getting worse.”

“Yeah... it’s like nothing else.” America squeezed his hand. “I’m glad I can stand by you now.”

“I am glad I can bloody stand,” England snorted. “That was annoying.”

America laughed. “I’m glad you can do that too. Makes life easier... although, it was kind of nice when you needed me.”

“That was only because you like to manhandle me.”

“Just a little.” America picked up England’s hand and brought it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of it.

"At least you finally admit it."

“Let’s go before I decide to hold up the meeting.” He grinned and turned toward the door, pulling it open. England slipped his fingers out of America’s before they entered. It wouldn’t do anyone any good for rumors to be fanned.

Yao looked awful. Thick clean white bandages encircled his forehead as others bound his arm in a sling that used his chest as a stabilizer. Dark bruises surrounded his eyes, stark against his abnormally pale skin. He sat at the table staring at a steaming cup of tea as Poland embroidered on a hoop next to him. "Yao...” England said.

America walked over, pulling out the chair next to him. “You look better than the last time I saw you.”

"That's rude." Yao muttured, refusing to look up as England stopped on the other side of the table, fingertips pressing across the top.

"I apologize for the both of us, Taizi Wang." England looked to America, jerking his head. If there was a nation that had more pride than England in the old ways it was China.

Eyeing America, China sighed after a moment and turned his attention to England. “The situation in the Pacific is growing dire. I would guess that Jones hasn’t told you since he is easily distracted.”

"No, and I must admit-" England paused as China got to his feet, slowly and with greater effort than average. England swallowed as the brunet bowed at the waist, ponytail slipping over his shoulder.

"Lord Kirkland."

"Taizi Wang." England bowed back, palms pressed to his thighs as one of the servant doors open and two women pushed in a cart for afternoon tea. England sat quickly, gesturing for China to do the same. He shot a dry look at America who was frowning. The young blond had spent time with Japan, and he’d been working with China for years, he should know the basic requirements of Asian culture. "Yes, I know a little of what has been going on. However, just enough to keep tabs on my colonies I am afraid."

“I haven’t told him because he doesn’t need to worry about it,” America said, once the other two were seated. “It’s fine, Arthur.”

"And when did it become your job to dictate what I do and don't need to worry about in matters of war, Master Jones?" England ignored the irritated look China shot America.

“Yao, we talked about this.”

“While you were bleeding in my infirmary, I remember. Or did you not tell him that either?” The tea service was set down in front of them, the servants hurrying away as soon as it was done.

“Excuse me?” England looked to America with a frown, fingers tracing the floral design of his cup before picking it up.

“I told you I crashed. It was a risk of the operation. I’m going to get more material in there so we both have more. The Pacific is a big ocean, but I still have to get stuff around Kiku’s navy.”

“We shall talk about that later.” England’s tone was one America was too familiar with. They were going to have a fight later. America opened his mouth to respond, but the door opened again.

“Oh, look, the rest of our great saviours arrive,” Poland snorted from his spot at the table, glancing up at France and Russia. France still looked worse for wear, dark rings under his eyes although he’d attempted to smooth his hair into a ponytail that he wore over one shoulder. He looked relieved to be surrounded by others. Russia looked completely unperturbed, but for a healing cut over one eye. He made a beeline to sit next to America and the two offered a strained greeting.

“You started without us, _mon amis,”_ France pouted, gesturing for a servant to fill his teacup as well.

"It's not my fault if you are late, Master Bonnefoy." England sniffed and shot a glance at Russia in distaste. Russia smiled back at England, scooting his chair forward.

France took a dainty sip from his tea cup. “We could have just met in my parlor. It’s closer and I would not have had to walk so far.”

"Don't be lazy."

“Speaking of lazy,” Russia interrupted. “It took you two long enough.” Russia gave America and China a hard stare. Both stiffened, but China didn’t speak. He’d declared war on the Axis on the same day as America, previously only at war with Japan. America, however, leaned forward in his chair.

“Interesting of you to say that when you were fighting for the other side until Ludwig backstabbed you. Now you want to play nice with us?”

“Who said anything about playing nice?” Russia reached out and patted America on the head.

"Dvoryanstvo Braginski please remember your manners in my home if you would," England hummed in warning.

Russia’s brow furrowed for a moment and then the bland smile came back to his face. Unreadable. “Oh, yes, let’s get this meeting started, _da?_ ”

"Yes, Master Jones was speaking before you entered." He gestured to America. "If you would continue."

“The Pacific mobilization is ready to go. I’ll be heading there myself soon. And for now, I think Ivan shouldn’t worry about the Pacific. He can put more pressure on Ludwig from the east. Yao and I can handle Kiku. And Arthur and I can deal with Feliciano in Africa as soon as the plans are finalized. Francis can help once we topple the phony government down there.”

"Think you are running everything, Jones?" China frowned, brow furrowing.

“Yeah.”

"And who gave you that illusion?" England lowered his cup.

“Because I’ve got more energy than all of you combined.”

Tension expanded in the room quickly and England grabbed France’s shoulder before the man could launch out of his chair. But America was left on his own when it came to Russia. "You think so?” Russia leaned forward, elbows on the table.

“You gonna prove me wrong?”

"I'm certain there is a way I can, _da._ " Russia's eyes darted to England, who was talking with France, and back with a cruel twist of his mouth. The older nations argued amongst themselves, letting Russia lean forward and talk to only America.

“You fucking start something with Arthur and it’s going to be me that’ll finish you.”

"What if I don't believe you?" Russia's smile was polite.

“Doesn’t matter if you don’t. You’ll be in ruins either way.”

"You said it yourself. You have to leave tomorrow... Master Jones."

“And I’ve got people all around here now. So, watch your step and pay attention to your job.”

"My job is what I make it." Russia glanced at England again. "And I've decided what I want to play with next."

“You’re underestimating Arthur... and me.”

"You just said it yourself right now, he's weak. I mean everyone knows it. How many hits he has taken." Russia leaned back in his chair. "Don't worry I'll take care of him when you leave."

“Like he’d let you.”

"You do know who we are talking about? The nation who has bedded nearly every nation out there. He's a conquering nation. Old habits die hard and he hasn't had me yet."

“Yeah, well,” America leaned closer. “He doesn’t want to have you. And he doesn’t do that anymore.”

"How certain are you?" Russia looked at him. "I heard he took a sword into battle with the infantry not too long ago. Against guns. Does that seem like someone who is completely done with the past?"

“He’s done with that part. And I’m sure. And if you try... you’re going to be sorry.”

"We shall see won't we?" Russia hummed with a smile. "You don't scare me America."

“And that is your first mistake.” America glared at him. “You’ve never fooled me.”

"I can be patient one more day. Conquering Britain would be a shiny badge on mother Russia's coat."

“In your fucking dreams.”

“And what are you going to do about it, Alfred?”

“Whatever it takes.”

Russia’s large hands folded over the arms of the chair, the wood creaking in protest. “ How about you show me after this little meeting?” He was edging for a fight.

“Why not get it over with?” America said. “I’m not scared of you either.”

“You sure you want to have a fight right here in front of everyone? How will it look to Arthur when I wipe you across the floor?” Russia leaned forward, a tick in his right cheek tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Either way you lose face. I win the fight, you look weak. Knock me down and the others will just believe what they always have, you don’t belong here. And either way, I still have Arthur.” America grinned at him, leaning back in his chair as though he didn’t have a worry in the world.

“Or I take you down so hard there is no one to stop me.”

“Not possible.”

“Or you could just acknowledge that you and I are the same.” Russia leaned forward, voice low. “They don’t respect us, never have. To them we are tools. I hear many of them still refer to you as The Colony. You are nothing more than I am to them.”

“No one calls me that anymore. I haven’t been a colony for nearly 200 years.” America’s hand curled into a fist. What he wouldn’t give to punch Russia, or the Soviet Union as he styled himself these days after swallowing up some of his neighbors.

"You’re still the little upstart country chasing after him like you have always done."

America got up out of his chair so fast he knocked it over, grabbing Russia by the collar of his shirt. “You don’t know anything!”

"Hit his smug face, Alfred!" Poland shouted from China’s other side as exclamations of surprise sounded from the other side of the table.

"I heard he was pissed you joined the war. Another weight for him to carry like Jett and Matthew. And then here you bring Yao along too. The little nation letting the big nation do all the real work. Just like during the Great War." Russia smiled sweetly. "How difficult this must be for you."

America hauled him up, the other chair falling back as Russia tried to keep his balance. “I am not weak.” He shoved Russia away from him.

"Could have fooled us all during the blitz."

The force of the blow seemed to stun even Russia for a moment as he landed hard on the ground, hand coming up to his jaw. America’s fists were clenched at his side. “Get up, Ivan.”

"Master Jones, stop!" England snapped from the otherside of the table. He bristled at the purple gaze that raked over him before Russia looked back to America.

"At least he can walk now right? Although with the new weight how long until another coma hits?"

All of the rage and frustration America had been feeling settled on Russia. “Get up!” When Russia just grinned at him from the floor, America stepped around him to pull him by his shirt once again. “I said, get up!”

"Break his face!" Poland suggested and England scowled at the blond before looking at America.

"Master Jones stop or I'll make you stop." England warned.

"Oh, there he is, still telling the little nation what to do." Russia shrugged, seeming unconcerned with the hands in his coat. "Your strength really has been exaggerated."

“You son of a bitch.” America couldn’t hear anyone else, only the satisfying sound of his fist meeting flesh as he didn’t bother with giving Russia the courtesy of another warning. If he wanted a brawl, he could have one. He managed to get in another hit before Russia finally struck him back.

"Alfred!" Suddenly the ground beneath America's feet shifted and then he was slammed into his chair, the wood cracking as Russia was slammed into the floor chin smacking with a thud. Neither of the two males were able to move from their spots, as if bound in place by invisible ropes. Blue eyes flew up to lock on England, the nation hadn’t moved from his spot, only his hand was raised, brow furrowed in concentration. “Enough!”

The silence that followed was deep, the sounds of the distant footsteps of other people walking through the palace made its way through the walls. As Russia picked his face up off the floor, blood dripped with a heavy splat. America clutched at his ribs where Russia had hit him and stared at England.

“You’re no fun, Arthur,” Poland chided, picking up his embroidery once again. Irritation spread across France and China’s faces. 

“I will not have fighting between us here! We have an enemy and they are not here in this room! Am I understood!?”

“Enemies for now anyway,” France said. “We can revisit this battle later. Preferably when Ludwig isn’t tromping all over my countryside!”

“Can I let you two go or are you going to need to stay bound?”

“It is cheating to use powers,” Russia grumbled. “But let us talk.” He glared up at America like he wasn’t finished with him.

“Thank you Dvoryanstvo Braginski, Master Jones?”

“Let’s have the meeting.”

"That's not what I'm asking."

“You can let me go.”

"Will you behave?"

“You don’t have to treat me like a child.” Russia chuckled from the floor

"I am not. I'm asking a man who attacked another man in my meeting room if you are going to do it again or am I going to break up another fight?"

America gave him a hard stare. “I can control myself.”

"Good." He lowered his hand. "Now let's get this over with."

Russia picked himself up off the floor and straightened his chair, the smug smile firmly on his face. America looked away, determined not to give him the satisfaction. “So, about the plan.”

"Everything of course will need to be discussed thoroughly."

“It’s detailed, but in overview. Yao and I, mostly me, are covering the Pacific. Arthur and I are taking North Africa and Francis will join in once we liberate the French colonies. Ivan can put pressure on them from the east. We all on the same page?” America leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. His breath hitched a little, Russia had gotten in a good one.

"No leaders," England interrupted. “You’re not in charge of telling everyone what to do.”

France scoffed. “You mean, unless you are the leader, dear _Angleterre, oui_?”

"No, I have no interest in that right now." England sniffed. "I have other things to attend to. I'm busy." He shook his head. "This isn't conquering, this is a group effort therefore everything should be done by group consent."

“Unanimous or majority? Because if we are waiting for unanimous agreement we may as well surrender right now.” France pulled a silver flask from his coat, the screws on the cap whispering as it opened. He poured a generous amount into his cup and offered it to the table.

"Majority, of course."

“And what stops you from getting two votes, _aru?_ ”

"What do you mean?"

“Or Alfred,” France added. “There is already a forming Anglo-American command. What stops that from coming in here?”

“Arthur and I aren’t one person,” America said.

"You could say that again," England muttered.

There was a tone of disbelief as everyone settled in their seats. “Other than the fact it’s not any of your business. We can do what needs to be done.”

Russia leaned forward, his chair creaking beneath him. “So, if Lord Kirkland was in danger you wouldn’t abandon one of us to go to him?”

America frowned. “We’re not talking hypotheticals today.”

"I also don't want you all using my first name here," England said tightly. "This is a formal meeting."

China reached for his tea cup, frowning a little at the design. “In an unprecedented situation, _aru._ We are old enemies and new allies. All of us have fought a war against at least one other at this table if not all at this table. As much as I don’t like the idea, perhaps Jones has a point.”

"What do you mean?'

“That this is new.”

"So you think that means we need a leader?"

“Or that we hear youth’s ideas. Which may include a leader.”

"If the majority agrees to that then who am I to argue?" England leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

“This is why you are so inefficient. Democracy.” Russia chuckled. “We can let little Master Jones try.”

"Well, then how do we proceed?" England ignored Russia, staring into his tea cup.

“Ivan holds the eastern front against Ludwig. Francis keeps working to undermine him on his lands. Yao keeps holding his lines where he can and I’ll send him what I can. I take on Japan’s navy in the Pacific...”

“You said this already, Alfred, how do you intend to be in the Pacific and help Arthur invade North Africa?” France asked.

“Let me worry about that,” America said.

"No, you'll tell us Master Jones."

“I’m gonna handle the first wave in the Pacific and then I’ll come help Arthur.”

"You think your troops will hold that long?"

“Yes.”

"And you're willing to push them that far?"

America leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “When they put their minds to it my people can do anything.”

"Too bad they didn't do anything earlier, _da_?"

“Fuck you, Ivan. We’re here now.”

"It’s Dvoryanstvo Braginski."

“I’ve known you too long.”

"It doesn't matter."

“Yeah, it doesn’t matter. Can we move on?”

"Yes, let's hurry up it's late." England rubbed his temple. Arguments didn’t take long to erupt again, but by the end of the meeting there was some semblance of order. Drinks were ordered to take back to rooms.

“Ready?” America said, looking up at England after tipping his folder closed. The room had emptied, the clock chiming on the mantle.

"I am ready for bed, Master Jones."

“Me too. Let’s go then.” America stood up and offered him a hand.

"I am fine, but thank you. Feel free to turn in."

“What?” America frowned, crossing his arms.

"I said feel free to turn in."

“Not unless you’re coming with me.”

"I have things to do."

America pushed himself out of the chair, his shoes tapping on the floor in the quiet of the room. He paused in front of England’s chair, leaning over him and resting his hands on the arms. “Important things?”

"Yes." England's lips pressed together in irritation "Vital."

“More vital than spending time with me?”

"Right now, Master Jones? Yes." England pulled his hands away.

America sighed. “What’s wrong?”

"Don't you sigh at me!" England hissed. "Do you realize how much extra work you just gave me!?"

“What? It’s the same amount of work as before.”

"No, it's not!" England slapped his folder closed standing up. "You give me unnecessary grief about my nation's formalities, fine. I'm used to your disrespect and lack of caring towards me. But you cannot disrespect two of the proudest nations in my home! When they go back and report it all to their leaders they are going to be livid! The apologies and gifts I am going to have to send just to smooth things over!"

“Believe if or not, Arthur, I have fucking dealings with them too and it’s fine! I’ve been helping Yao for years and that had nothing to do with you! And Ivan can go fuck himself, I don’t care what he thinks.”

"Certain things are expected here! In my palace, in my home, in these meetings!" He knocked the chair back, whirling to face America. "And I have asked you more than once to not address me so casually in formal meetings!"

“And I’ve asked you more than once to not treat me like a child and here we are!”

"I did not treat you like a child! You started a fight in the middle of a meeting!"

“You acted like I couldn’t possibly be in charge! And you would have hit him too if you’d heard what he said!”

"I would question anybody who said that they wanted to be in charge of me!"

“And you did, publicly and in a way that undermines me. I’m already the youngest one here and nobody knows what I can do.” America reached up and touched England’s chin. “Even you.”

England jerked his head away. "I stopped Ivan as well! You were brawling in my palace!"

“You should have let me finish him.”

"No! You can't fight like that at a war meeting!"

“Like you’ve never punched anyone at a meeting. He deserved it and he’ll think twice about next time. Arthur, are you really going to be pissed off at me right now?”

"Go to bed, Master Jones." England turned to pick up his papers from the table and America caught him by the arm.

“No.”

"Work."

“Tomorrow.” He pulled England closer. “Come to bed with me tonight.”

"Work." England pushed back, taking a couple steps away. "When I call work, it’s work." He shook his head. "I am drawing a line. You tried to use our personal relationship to get your way in the middle of a war meeting. Never again. When we are working we are working. I am not Arthur. Not sweetheart. I am Lord Kirkland. You are not Alfred. You are not love. You are Master Jones. Those are my terms."

America stood still, hands dropping to his sides. “Except our history and relationship is all the others see. You existed without me, but I have _never_ existed without you. Our relationship is _always_ there, whether we are Alfred and Arthur or the United States and the United Kingdom.”

"And when it’s phrased that way yousound like you aren't willing to change that. That you are fine piggy backing on me. It negates you asking to be treated as an equal. I will not treat someone like my equal that won't act like they are one."

America rubbed the back of his neck, taking a step toward England. “No, what I’m saying, Arthur, is that we stand together. You gotta let me stand on equal ground with you. Especially now. Which means you can’t chide me like you know better.”

"So I have to let you? I thought you had more energy than all of us combined? And yes, I can chide you when you attack my guest, in my home, during my war meeting. That is childish. That is not equal behavior."

“Fine, I’m gonna stop you the next time you and Francis start shit. Or you and your brothers. You’ve told me to stay out of it. I’m saying stay out of what’s going on with that fucking Communist.”

"As long as you don’t break out into a physical fight with my guests."

“Then you have to agree too.”

"To what?"

“That I’ll be breaking up any fights that you start.”

"Then fine."

“Okay, then. Arthur, can I ask you one more thing?”

"Work."

“No! You can’t just pull away from me when I didn’t do something you liked!”

"I'm not Arthur."

“When it’s fucking convenient for you!”

England stared at him calmly."We haven't stopped Master Jones. I said work earlier. We haven't even left the room."

America’s frown deepened and he closed the distance between them and without a word, grabbed England around the waist and threw him over his shoulder. “Then we’re leaving.”

"MASTER JONES!" England shouted, fists hitting his back.

America ignored him, walking into the hallway and making his way towards his rooms.

"Alfred, how dare you!" A flat hand found the American nation's ass, a flashback to the blue eyed man's colony days.

“Which is it, Jones or Alfred?” America grit his teeth as England hit him again until they made it out of the main corridor. He pulled England off his shoulder as he smacked at him again and grabbed hold of his wrists. “Which will it be, Arthur?”

"You just forcefully removed me from my war meeting room!"

“You’re a regular Sherlock Holmes.”

"Fuck off, Alfred!" England snapped, irritation crossing his brow when he couldn't pull free.

“What’s really pissing you off? It can’t just be that I punched Ivan in his stupid face!”

"You have no respect! You disrespected so many cultures! Me! Again! Like you always have!" England kicked at him.

“I respect them! I wouldn’t bother trying to help any of them if I didn’t! You just always see the worst!” America winced as England’s boot connected with his shin. “Arthur, stop fighting me!”

"You disrespected me right in the middle of a war meeting! You know I find that behond insulting!" Hot tears pooled in green eyes with frustration.

“Fuck, it’s like we have the same fight over and over again.” America felt his own words catch in the back of his throat. “I have to stand up for myself and then you feel disrespected.” He released his wrists, reaching up to press his hands to Arthur’s cheeks and smoothing away the tears.

"And then once again you misunderstand why I am upset, rinse, repeat."England tried to turn his face, a hiccup escaping when America stopped him.

“Tell me again.”

"Bedroom, Arthur. Work, Lord Kirkland."

America hesitated. “Can we compromise on just Kirkland?”

"No."

“I can’t. Not in front of the others. When I say it, it’s just for you.”

"No." England bit back. "Everyone calls me that when it's official business. It's my title. Who I am." His eyes averted, hesitating beneath pride and embarrassment. "You're the only person who calls me sweetheart... the only one who's allowed to. That's an endearment. Not Lord Kirkland."

“I’ve never called you Lord Kirkland in public since my...” America said. “It would raise more eyebrows.”

"Just forget it."

“Then it’ll come back and bite me like it always does.”

"This is why." England's voice got quieter. "This attitude, this reaction, this disregard... this is why I never told you about my wings...or anything else."

America’s eyes widened, hurt streaking across them. His jaw clenched. “You still don’t trust me.”

"Alfred, no! It's not that." England looked at him this time. "I trust you, it's...you're, you," he paused, searching for a word. "You don't deal with things that don't fit into your mold."

“I wonder who I learned that from.” His voice was quiet, like he didn’t want to say it, but it needed to come out.

"Just push it under the rug."

“Can we do that? Can you do that?”

"I can fake it. Pretend."

America stepped away from him. “I don’t want you to have to pretend.”

"Well neither of us is bending. So that's our only option."

“Or we can meet in the middle. We’ll call each other by our last names. No one is going to buy that we aren’t close... and Arthur, we are all going to be closer when this is over.” America pushed his hands into his pockets. “You think about it. I’ll let you get back to work.”

"Okay... good night Alfred."

“We can’t only be fine when no one else is around.” America turned around, walking down the corridor past the portraits hanging on the walls, some were older than he was. As he reached the corner he glanced back at England once more.

***

The clock was chiming one in the morning when America was pulled from sleep by movement and a cooler body. He had stayed up waiting for Arthur to come to bed before succumbing to sleep. He had returned to the guest room, uncertain where to be. England curled into his side, one arm wrapping around his waist, head finding his place on his shoulder.

Instinctually, he curled an arm around England’s back, turning his head to press his nose into England’s hair. “Hello.” Words piled up in his throat, but he wanted to see if England had anything to say.

"Good morning." England murmured,left leg draping over America’s right hip.

“I wasn’t sure if you would come, sweetheart.”

"I never said I wasn't. I told you I had some work."

America slid his hand up England’s back. He squeezed at the stiff muscles in England’s neck. “Did you make a decision?”

"On what?"

“Compromise.”

"My compromise is that I am here and I am not fighting you when you have to leave soon."

“We’re like that math equation. The two lines get infinitely closer but never actually meet.” America snuggled against him, still feeling the hurt in his stomach, but unwilling to let him go all the same.

"Maybe that's our fate."

“Then fate is an asshole.”

England chuckled. "I mean that's not wrong."

America smiled, kissing the top of England’s head. “Fate’s not winning this one.”

"Which one?"

“Fate is not going to drive us apart.” He hooked his fingers beneath England’s chin to tilt his head up, brushing their noses together.

"That's a big promise to make"

“You don’t believe me?”

"I never said I didn't. But I'm also wondering why you are talking."

America smiled, hooking his fingers around England chin and pressing a kiss to his mouth. “Let’s not talk anymore.”

"Thank the Queen." England gasped, submitting as America rolled him underneath. England's mouth moved against his, simmering with urgency. Fingers pulling at his nightshirt England grunted. "Once again you and these blasted clothes.”

America leaned up, pulling his nightshirt over his head. His hands went to the tie of England’s robe and loosened the knot. England wriggled out of it and the garment joined the shirt on the floor. Leaning over him, he pressed another kiss, one arm hooking around England’s waist.

"Where do you want me?" England murmured, fingers threading through America's blonde locks. "You need a haircut."

“Right where you are.” He pressed his mouth to England’s pulse, drawing their bodies together. He took England’s hands from his hair and directed them to the headboard. “You’re gonna have to hang on for what I’ve got planned,” he whispered in England’s ear.

"Oh really? I think you should lay out your battle plans."

“It’s a surprise attack. Can’t reveal my plans.” He scooted back, pulling off his sleep pants. America paused for a moment, tilting his head like he was considering something.

"What?"

America didn’t answer, pressing his mouth against England’s throat, kissing a trail over his adam’s apple. His hand trailed over England’s right leg, hitching it up. “Show me how flexible you are, sweetheart.”

"I feel like that's a trick question."

“Take it literally.”Kissing the corner of his smile, America pulled England’s hips to his own. He made a curious sound, but just drew England into another kiss pressing for more. Words began to fall away as they moved into a familiar pattern, though still raw with the feelings that had grown.

"Here I was hoping to get some rest," England groaned, stretching and cracking his back as he rolled onto his belly.

“Yeah, but then you’re really worn out. Easier to sleep.”

"But what if I'm not worn out?" England looked over his shoulder, strands of hair sticking to his forehead with sweat.

“Then, I’ve got my work cut out for me.” He pressed a kiss to England’s shoulder-blade, hand roaming over his back and over his hip.

"Fly tomorrow."

“You want me to stay an extra day.”

"Yes, I know." England rolled onto his back to look up at America, hips sharp under the larger man's hands. "But I want to fly tomorrow."

“Which plane? I’m always up for flying. Gonna be more important than ever now.”

"Whatever one you want."

America brushed his fingers over England’s ribs. “Is it safe right now?”

"To fly?”

“I don’t want you in a dogfight.”

England's content expression evaporated. "Excuse me?"

“Nothing.” America pressed a kiss to his cheek, wanting the softness back in England’s expression. “Let’s fly north.”

"Wherever." England murmured, running his hands over America's shoulders.

“Okay. But for now... I really want you to kiss me. Make me feel it, Arthur.”

"Feel what, love?" England pressed a kiss to the curve of his jaw.

“How much you love me.”

"Alfred!" England flushed in embarrassment.

America kissed his cheek, his grin against his skin as he tucked his face against England’s throat. “C’mon.”

"Show or tell you?" England whispered, finger pads pressing against his cheekbones.

“Can I have both?”

"You are so greedy."

America rolled to his side, drawing England with him. “When it comes to this. And food.”

"I know, I know." England murmured, a kiss brushing over America's temple. "It's you... I love you."

America wrapped his arms around England’s back. “I’ll never get tired of hearing that.”

"Don't get used to it." England sniffed, embarrassment heating the back of his neck. America chuckled, smoothing the fingers of one hand against the back of England’s head.

“I love you, too.”

England leaned in pressing a soft kiss to America's mouth. A yawn interrupted the kiss, eyelids drooping over green eyes in exhaustion.

“I thought you said you weren’t worn out?” America teased, pressing another soft kiss to his mouth. “No leaving.” America pulled him closer and tucked the blankets around them.

"I can't leave at all?"

“If it’s longer than five minutes. So no working.”

"What if it's not working?"

“Where would you be going?” America tightened his arms around him and tangled his legs with England’s own as he made himself more comfortable.

"To see my illicit lover perhaps."

“Who do I need to threaten, hmmm?” America said. “Because you’re mine.”

"Territorial, huh?"

“Absolutely.” America patted England’s thigh.

"I guess I can take it in bed."

“You can, can you?” America rolled on top of him. “Want to prove it?”

"That I can handle you being territorial?"

“That you can take it.”

"I can't take anything if you don't do anything."

America grinned and leaned over England, placing his lips to his neck. His hand slid teasingly down England’s belly between them as he began to work a spot beneath England’s ear.

"Re-" England yawned loudly, covering his mouth in embarrassment.

America laughed. “I guess I’ll have to make my mark after you get some sleep.” He kissed England’s temple and settled back down beside him. “You don’t have the energy to hop into someone else’s bed. I’m plenty for you.” England muttered something in protest, although his heart wasn’t in it. He drifted off.

When he woke up, the sheets beside him were cold.

_Arthur, something big I gotta take care of. I’ll see you at the airfield. Love, Alfred._

“The bloody fuck!” Heavy blankets hit the floor with an audible thud, followed by naked feet. The stone floor was cold beneath his toes, the air nipping at his skin as he made his way down the hidden passage. The temperature was astounding and welcome when he got to his room, stone to red turkish rugs. England tore his flight gear from the wardrobe, hangers protesting at the violent action. His boots laced tightly about his ankles. Belt tight at his waist, googles snug over his forehead. “Where are my gloves?” Shoving them into his pockets, his jaw clenched. America could have at least waited for tea.

***

America leaned against the ladder leading up to the open cockpit of the plane. It was different that the oppressive sense of doom that had existed in previous months, the knowledge that every day they would lose a pilot or a plane to a German onslaught. The fact that they would have to go up and fight. It was waiting now, waiting for another wave that may or may not come.

He fidgeted with his gloves. The phone call had taken much longer than he’d thought. In a few days he would be halfway across the world in the open ocean, checking up on another base. Making sure that they would be able to make a stand if necessary. Japan’s fleet had disappeared again and despite the sweeps, he was nowhere to be seen. _I don’t like playing hide and seek,_ America thought. He looked up to see England striding across the lawn towards him. “Arthur, I...” The look on England’s face made him pause.

“You are an arse!” England snapped, when he got to him. “And a hypocrite!”

“Anything else you want to call me?” America said, shifting uncomfortably. “I had to take the call, Arthur, it’s... there’s some movement in the Pacific and we’re not sure where they’re going to hit next. It was Jett on the phone, he is really worried.”

“And you decided to come out here rather than come back to bed?”

“I didn’t know how long it was going to take and I didn’t want you to have to wait too long. And then I ran into Francis in the hallway and he’s on another one of his Vichy kicks and Matt needed help. I needed some space to clear my head.”

England stared up at him, arms folded over his chest. "Fine."

“Fine?” America didn’t think it would be that easy.

"You want to waste energy fighting?" England's brow arched, lips pursed as if having just eaten something sour.

“No, I don’t.” America pulled his flight cap down tighter onto his head. “Are you ready to show me how you fly?”

"Yeah and how about I give you a head start... you'll need it."

“Yeah, right, sweetheart. I invented these things,” he said, patting the side of the plane. “I got us clearance to fly out west. Probably can’t get away with going all the way to Iceland... but we can head in that direction.” He tucked his glasses into his pocket and pulled his flight goggles on over his face. “Let’s get this puppy fired up.” He turned and climbed up the ladder, focusing on the gauges. He waved at England when the flags came out to signal he could enter the runway.

"Have fun. I'll see you in a bit." England wiggled his fingers with a smirk. America would need all the running start he could get.

***

America loved the hum of the engines and the way his body felt at one with the machine. He could go anywhere and move faster than humans a century before would have dreamed possible. He moved upwards into the clouds watching the white wisps dash over the windshield of the Spitfire.

The air was cool and the morning sun bright as he ducked around clouds, spinning lazily, dropping and arcing through the sky. It was moments like these when he could regather his sanity. It was about twenty minutes after the flight began that he felt his right wing jerk. Worried, America glanced and had to do a double-take, England was there, his white wings pulled against his body, flight goggles pulled over his eyes. Pushing back the canopy, the air whipping at his hat and nearly stealing his words. “Show off!” America shouted.

"That would be terribly ungentlemanly of me." England sat on the edge of the wing, his own relaxed, enjoying the wind sliding through the primaries.

“How fast can you go?” America asked, a competitive gleam in his eyes.

"You mean have I out flown a plane? " England arched a brow. "How else would one explain all those mechanic failings on Nazi planes when Germany has one of the best mechanics in the world?" His wings snapped open and he was wrenched off the mechanic wing, dropping into a nosedive.

America flipped the plane over into a dive, chasing him toward the ground, testing the handling of the plane and feeling the rush he always had when his feet left the ground.

***

England couldn’t bury the laugh that exploded from his lungs as he straightened out. America wouldn’t be able to beat him. He could tail him, but the weight of the machine and the progress technology still needed. Plus, well magic. He looped a couple of times, hearing his engine at full capacity.

Then there were three engines at full capacity.

England jerked skyward. None of his planes were scheduled out today. This wasn't good. His expression must have been readable because suddenly America banked right and climbed back into the sky with him. England's fingers, although gloved, were cold as they snatched the broadside of America's right wing. He looked at the blond. He heard them too.

America leaned forward trying to scan the sky above him. They were too far out for the radio to be of any use to call for a radar reading from the ground. He pulled them higher into the clouds so they could potentially hide from whoever else was out there. “Can you see them?” America called out, his engine whirring with slowing the speed.

Shaking his head, England closed his eyes trying to hear anything above the wind and the plane’s engine. Swallowing he opened his eyes looking around something flickering in the corner of his eye "Port!" It was a bellow as he dropped off the wing, plummeting into a cloud.

America reacted immediately, the flashes of bullets cut through the clouds, narrowly missing his craft. His heart pounded as he watched the gauges shift as his altitude dropped. He had a moment to catch his breath before the fighter dropped out of the cloud bank behind him, the black cross visible beneath its wings. “Shit!” America banked his plane upward, trying to get back up into the clouds and loop around the other plane. There were still two others out there. “Go back, Arthur...” America said through gritted teeth, he hoped that he would.

"I can't even go for a fucking fly," England muttered, tucking small and dropping through the clouds. There! A shadow. Fingers finding the blade strapped to his thigh England took a deep breath. There were three of them. He could take one down, America the other. Green eyes scanned the clouds as he leveled out. There. America. Shit. A plane. His back protested, snapping forward. He would need to take this one down first. One palm burning fiercely. The engine would go fast.

***

America saw the explosion above him, a bright flash in the clouds and a moment later one of the fighters dropped past him, telltale black smoke trailing behind it. He pulled back on the stick, climbing above the clouds and into the sunlight. He saw a flash of England coming above the clouds with him. A wicked grin spread across England's face at the sight of him, his wings spreading wide in success.

There was another explosion, England had already taken care of the second plane with a delayed reaction. Flipping in a circle, he grinned wider. America smiled back.

The final plane came so fast, America hadn’t realized he’d gotten above him.

Rat-a-tat-tat.

Flash, flash, flash.

People didn't normally get shot by a plane.

The grin had shattered, covered in red.

“Arthur!”

He pushed on the stick as hard as he could, wind whistling as he tried to catch up with England falling out of the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! So sorry that there was such a long pause between updates! Chapter 12 has actually been finished for a little bit... but we wanted to be able to bring you Chapter 13 as well (I feel like there are enough cliffhangers in the real world right now!). Thank you for all the comments and kudos in the meantime! We're doing all right, just trying to plug along through everything that has been happening.
> 
> We hope everyone has been doing well! Thank you for reading our story, we hope it's bringing some enjoyment to all of you!


	14. MIA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Pacific War has officially begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Depictions of battles.

“Arthur!” America screamed as he began to drop. He pushed the throttle, trying to get below him, but the plane wasn’t designed for something that needed that much finesse. It didn’t help that more bullets raked the tail of his plane. He looked away from England for a moment to try and see who was on his tail and when he banked to avoid a direct hit, he tried to find England again, but had lost sight of him in the clouds. Bullets scratched and pierced at the armor of his plane, one cracking through the glass and barely missing the bones of his right cheek. The engine choked, America’s stomach dropping in time with the plane, falling fast for seconds before shuddering back to life. That had been just enough to drop away from the Nazi pilot. Then the black cross dropped past him at alarming speed, its engine ablaze. A clump of something clinging to its wings. Brown feathers, not white. Blue eyes clashed with purple.

“Matt...” His brother’s name slipped past his lips as he fought to keep control of the damaged machine. The fuel or the oil line must have been nicked. He might be able to glide it back to land if he turned around now. But he couldn’t leave Arthur. The enemy plane and Canada disappeared into a cloud and America plunged after them.When he emerged from the blinding white Canada was no longer attached to the plan which spun dangerously off towards the right. His brother was a small figure below him, diving sharply towards a limp body. From this distance America could see Canada's arms extend and grab England, the pair barely avoiding the water, flying low before a great effort was made to meet America in the air. Canada carrying what appeared to be an unconscious England.

His engine sputtered, but it was still running. He pushed open the canopy further and waved his arm, trying to get them to come closer. England’s wings had disappeared and he was cradled in Canada’s arms. “Come on!” He waved his arm again. The plan dipped dangerously as Canada dropped onto the wing, heavy with the weight of an unconscious body. Where England’s had been snow colored, Canada’s were golden brown. America was briefly reminded of the maple syrup his brother was so fond of. His brother stared him down, a livid expression twisting his features.

“How could you be so stupid!?” America could barely catch his words over the wind. He didn’t know Canada could raise his voice that loud.

“Hang on, Matt, I’m getting us back. If I have to make a water landing, just take Arthur. I’ll figure it out.” The plane sputtered again, and America couldn’t bear to look at England’s body. “Hang in there, Arthur...”

Canada said something taht America couldn’t hear, as he laid England down in front of him, wings folding over the pair of them after shooting one more dirty glare at America. His heart pounded as he focused on getting them back to land. His hands shook a little less as the coast of England came back into sight. “Hold on Arthur...”

“I am fine!” England’s sharp retort cut through the windas Canada’s own appendages folded back, England sitting up and rubbing at his head. “I need a drink.”

“Don’t give me that? You were shot!” The runway was coming back into view.

“You’ll need to land Al we will meet you back at the palace.” Canada helped England to his feet.

America swallowed, jealousy stirring in his stomach as he nodded and watched them take off. As soon as he was on the ground, technicians and crew came out to look at the damage. He told them what he could, the desire to see how England was pulling at him. He hurried back, not even bothering to change until he came to England’s room.

“Those aren’t even going to leave scars.” Canada’s voice drifted from the bathroom along with the steam. The sound of splashing water alerting America to the fact that they had filled the tub.

He dropped his flight helmet on the floor and hurried into the bathroom. “Arthur!”

Canada didn’t bother looking up from where he stood beside the tub, a thick turkish hand cloth in hand, working soap through mucked white feathers. England looked up, one hand gripping the tub, the other gripping what appeared to be a generous glass of bourbon.

“Alfred.”

“Where did you get hit?” America hurried over to the tub, dropping to his knees so he could lean on the edge to examine him.

“Seven shots to the chest. One to the thigh” England gestured vaguely as if unconcerned and took a sip.

“Fuck!” America ripped off his gloves and threw them down on the bathroom floor. He reached out and touched England’s shoulder.

"Oy, it's fine Al." Canada grabbed his hand. "Calm down."

America reeled back from him, knocking Canada’s hand aside. “Who asked you?!”

"Alfred." England frowned. "What's the matter with you?"

“What’s the matter? Seriously?”

England frowned. "I told you I was fine."

America shook his head, “Damn it, Arthur! Do you really not get it?” Tears choked his throat and he pulled his sleeve across his eyes to wipe away the sudden rush of tears.

“Matthew,” England murmured, reaching for the rag. Canada nodded. Pushing to his feet with a groan, knees no doubt sore from kneeling on the tiled flooring.

“I'll have them send something to eat and drink. Neither of you have probably eaten today eh.” He gave a soft smile before disappearing out of the bathroom, closing the door between him. England looked to America and extended the wash cloth to him.

“Come now. There is no reason to cry, love. Help me get cleaned up.”

“You were shot down in front of me! And I couldn’t... I wouldn’t have been able to get to you.”

England took a large swallow from the glass in his hand before continuing. “I know Alfred... but it’s... I would have been fine. Really, it looked worse than it was.”

America rubbed at his face, a black smudge being left behind from the oil that covered his uniform sleeves. “We shouldn’t have gone out.”

“No, Alfred.” England dropped the washcloth on the floor, reaching over and touching his face. “Don’t say that. Until, well, until it went south we were having a lovely time.”

America clutched his hand. “When I thought I couldn’t... that you were going to fall into the ocean...” He looked up at him, eyes still full of tears.

“Come,” England gestured, pulling him forward. “You interrupted, Matthew. Come finish cleaning the feathers I cannot reach.”

Sniffing, America started to work, running his fingers over the damp feathers. “You told me that Matt was like you... but... I didn’t believe it.”

“Why not?”

“I just... didn’t believe it.” He leaned against the edge of the tub, a sigh escaping his lips. “Please stay safe while I’m gone."

"Alfred... I... let’s get some clean water...” England leaned forward gingerly and pulled at the drain, starting the taps anew, “Get in the bath with me, love."

“I’ll hurt you.”

"Are you going to help me get cleaned up or not?"

America winced, the memory of what he’d seen still so visible in front of him. The water going down the drain was pink with the blood that had already been washed off, but America couldn’t see the bullet wounds he’d talked about. He took a deep breath and nodded, pushing himself up so that he could undress. He hung up his jacket, although he left much of the rest of the uniform on the floor near the door. He flicked the lock and then walked back to the bathtub.

"My wings took the brunt of the mess." He took another sip, glad to be two glasses in. "Once they are cleaned we can drain the water again and put more hot in. Sound good love?"

“Okay.” America got back to work with the cloth, combing the feathers and rinsing them until they were white again. His stomach felt tight. It was easier to think about the war in abstracts, or as one where England would be safe away from it all... he knew it wasn’t the truth, but it had been more comforting to think of it that way. Especially now. He couldn’t think of anything to say so he began to just talk. “It’s going to be a hot summer back home, I think. The early flowers were just starting to bloom when I was back home last.”

"What I wouldn't give to just tend my garden this year," England groaned wistfully. "My rose's are probably going to get out of hand."

“It’ll be a good project when it’s done next year.”

"I'll give it more than that." England sighed, head dropping forward. He winced as America’s fingers found a tender spot.

“Easy.” America smoothed his fingers across England’s shoulder blade, gently feeling for any injury. “More than a year to win the war? It’s already been two and a half.”

"Some wars last a long time." England murmured, draining his glass and leaning over the tub lip for the decanter. As England leaned out of the water, America could see the puckered wounds in his lower back from where he was shot. He was already starting to heal, a good sign, but America still bit his lip when he saw them.

“Not this one. I won’t let it drag on forever.”

"Sure," England hummed, wings pulling in. There was much more room with them gone. He could feel America’s stare. "Matthew's a good healer."

“Then why didn’t he heal you before?” America lay his hand against the unmarred skin above the wound. Jealousy welled up in his stomach again.

"Bullet wounds are different from whatever was going on before. This was physical that was nation related."

“Oh.” America leaned forward, pressing his forehead against England’s right shoulder. He couldn’t do that either.

England fussed with the drains and the taps, exchanging the water for hot and clean. A sigh of appreciation escaped him before he continued, "I got cocky... I am sorry you had to see that."

“It scared the hell out of me.” He wrapped his arms gently around England, careful to not jostle him. “It makes it that much harder to go...”

England leaned back into the touch with a hum, eyeing his soaps. "That's not the first time, Alfred."

“Doesn’t mean I like it.”

"No, neither do I. It rather smarts."

“That’s not funny,” America mumbled. “We should have just stayed in bed.”

"I enjoyed it."

“I wish I could fly with you.”

"You did."

“You know what I mean.”

"Alfred..." England looked back at him with a sad smile. "Let's talk about something else."

America was quiet for a moment, scooting back in the tub and laying his hands on England’s shoulders, pressing gently to try and loosen the tight position. “Do you want to hear a story or have a discussion?”

"Depends what the story is about."

“An old story back before the transcontinental railroad went in.”

"You mean when we weren't speaking?"

“Huh, I guess we weren’t. You missed a lot.” America chuckled. “I was trying so hard to convince myself I wasn’t in love with you because there was no way you’d love me back.”

"Oh... back then..." England rolled the amber liquor about in the glass. "No, I don't think I did. I think I still partly hated you."

“What made you stop?”

"I don't know." England shrugged, taking another sip before fanning himself.

America moved forward, the water sloshing a little. “Are you sure it was hate? Because it didn’t feel like hate when you would kiss me.”

"Back then if..." England shook his head. "Forget it."

“If what?” America smoothed his fingers against the back of England’s neck, teasing the shaggy blond strands with a fingertip for a moment.

"I was kissing and fucking so many people back then. I conquered," England murmured.

“I remember. Maybe I hated you a little too.”

"Good."

“Why would that be good?”

"So I wasn't the only one."

America reached for him, trying to prompt him to turn back towards him so he could see his face. “You’re not alone. I might not always understand you... but I’m not going anywhere.”

England swallowed thickly, managing nothing more than a whisper. "I know."

“I don’t hate you anymore. And I’m really glad that you aren’t...” America’s eyes dropped to the wounds.

"I'm starving," England muttered. "They are taking forever..."

America yawned, closing his eyes. He tried to banish away the image of England being shot out of the sky. He knew it would haunt his nightmares for a long time. He kissed the back of England’s head, breathing in the scent of his damp hair. He felt like he’d been awake for weeks. He tried to keep his mind from running ahead, but he couldn’t stop it. The other side of the war would be soon. He wanted it and he would make it happen.

***

“I think we should bathe, eat breakfast, and then go lay in the sunshine in my rose garden,” England hummed, fingers rubbing over America’s kneecaps. “We can bring blankets and a hat for me so I don’t burn. It’s going to be sunny all day. Sounds good?” England smiled at the murmured agreement. England stared out across the wide expanse of bathwater and to the medicine cabinet above the sink where a gun sat behind the mirror. A partner to the one that was tucked beneath the tub.

A bullet could kill a human easily. But today had proven once again that they couldn’t kill a nation. It just hurt like hell. England leaned further back into America’s embrace, a happy sound escaping the younger male. No, it couldn’t kill a nation. England chewed on the inside of his cheek. But what about a magic bullet. An idea wormed its way from the darkest parts of his thoughts.

That was something even Rome had never been able to do.

The rattle of the breakfast tray being rolled into the water closet broke the silence. England watched as long tan arms pulled a tray of already buttered scones from the cart. Somebody had procured extra rations.Opening his mouth, he took a bite from the one America pressed to his lips. It was warm, fresh. A whole scone disappeared into America’s mouth in one bite.

Rome had never even killed a nation. But Rome didn’t have any arcane talents. The dark thoughts wiggled again.

He could do it.

He could kill a nation.

He’d do anything to protect him.

***

_June 4, 1942_

_Midway Island, Pacific Ocean_

The pencil was a welcome feeling between his teeth as America messed with the radio knob, trying to hit the right frequency. It gave him something other to worry with his teeth than clenching his jaw. He’d been trying to get a line for the better part of an hour. He hadn’t heard from England in nearly three weeks, which wouldn’t have bothered him in decades past, but now seemed excessive with the complex networks of telephone lines, radio, and even the rudimentary start of sending pictures over the radio waves. Maybe there was a message that had been held up... the radio crackled again, the promising whisper of a connected transmission darting away again. Damn it.

The room was close and warm with the hum of machines all around. It would have been comforting, the scratch of pencils as radio operators made notes and messages being relayed, if things hadn’t been getting progressively worse. Japan was proving to be more slippery than he thought, and he hadn’t been able to find a bulk of the Japanese fleet for over a month. He’d dispersed, but was probably going to come back together. Somewhere. And the intelligence suggested that it would be this island.

The ticker tape of a code machine sounded in the background. He turned, half pulling the headset off his ears to listen to what the news was. There was an attack coming any day now according to the code they’d broken and Japan didn’t know about yet. Was it here?

“Jones.” America looked up into the stern face of Admiral Spruance. “There’s news from the Aleutians. Japanese forces started an attack on the islands yesterday.”

“What!?” he said, the words muffled by the pencil still in his mouth. The wood cracked dangerously and he spat it out. That had been what that funny feeling that had woken him up in the middle of the night had been about. Japan had managed to make landfall on his territory. “I need...”

“Sir! A PBY has spotted the Japanese main force!” Another radio operator spoke up, drawing absolute attention from everyone else in the room. Orders came and a flurry of activity began at once, America dropping the radio headset onto the desk. He barely saw the other soldiers moving to planes or back to ships or to other offices where they would take their battle stations. The call to the units faded into the background as he made his way to a scout plane. The PBY Catalina was small, but he would be able to get out there and see for himself. The amphibious seaplane lifted off without a concern and soon he was in the air, taking in the heading he’d scribbled with his half-chewed pencil in the radio room.

The controlled chaos of the base fell away as he became surrounded by the hum of the plane’s engines and the contacts through the radio. The Pacific Ocean stretched out blue in all directions, a few islands breaking up the skyline, but none of the telltale glint of ships quite yet. America ran through what he’d learned about Japan’s attack strategy. He never seemed to be surprised, but had a coordinated plan. Japan couldn’t have good intel about Midway because his survey planes had lost their refueling station only a few days before. Japan’s face had maybe twitched at that one. If Japan was insisting on playing _shogi_ with him, America was going to make him play checkers.

A pang hit him in the chest at the memory of trying to teach Japan how to play. He shook his head, now was definitely not the time to be reminiscing. His friend wasn’t on the other side right now. The Empire of Japan wasn’t a friend.

The radio crackled in his ear. “Radar detects enemy fighters in the area. Be on the lookout.”

Japan must have brought aircraft carriers. Of course, he had. But if he thought he was going to outfly him he had another thing coming. America moved lower, skimming the top of the ocean and trying to see what else might be seen from this angle.

There.

The beauty of the open ocean fell away as his attention completely narrowed onto a thin dark shape on the horizon. A battleship. An enemy battleship.

And he had a torpedo payload that could get dropped.

Radioing in his position to alert any other launches, America began to climb back up to the altitude he would need. He needed to drop it and then get out of there. A fighter plane was faster and more maneuverable. And if one got a lock on him he would be bailing out way too far from shore to make much of a difference in the coming battle.

The smell of fuel and oil sank into his senses as he wondered if he was going to be fast enough for them to not realize he was there until it was too late. After all, he was just one plane and he could push these machines to limits that no human pilot would ever be able to achieve. So close...

The anti-aircraft fire slipped by him in flashes and muscle memory took over as he focused on getting into position. He could hear the pings of a few rounds that found purchase, but nothing critical. Just a little closer...

America could imagine that he heard the splash as the torpedo hit the water, but he didn’t have a chance to see if it connected as he immediately turned to head back. He did a quick calculation on fuel. He could push the engines a little harder. The danger fell away as he was out of range of the cannons on the ship. He dipped back for a quick check and didn’t see any plumes of smoke that would have signalled a hit.

_Damn it_.

He’d missed.

Didn’t mean that he got another chance. Gritting his teeth, he leaned hard on the flight stick, trying to push the engines to get back to base so he could get something with a little more fight in it. There would likely be new reports coming soon anyway. He could get somewhere he could do the most damage.

Midway was on the horizon, he would be there in minutes at this speed. The radio crackled again, but the static never formed into words. Something going wrong with something. He cursed, the technology was still getting the kinks worked out. America turned his head, looking for anything that would have prompted a comm call.

Incoming zeroes. The planes were sleek, fast and easily able to get around most of his own aircraft. The red circle emblazoned on their side made no mistake who they belonged to. And he was going to have a hell of a time outflying them.

_Damn it._

The rattle of the guns and the subsequent burn of smoke.

_DAMN IT._

The ocean was getting closer and closer as he lost altitude. He was losing maneuverability. It was going to come down hard. The blue rushed closer and closer, the light reflecting off the water turning into stripes. His hands clenched on the stick. Squeezing his eyes shut, America held on as there was only seconds to go. A deep breath.

It wasn’t like it was the first time...

***

The sand was hot underneath his cheek and his body ached. His boots were soaked and his flight uniform felt heavy and damp. He opened his eyes and couldn’t see anything. In a panic, he pushed himself up, not feeling any sharp stabs of pain from shrapnel. So no holes. Then why couldn’t he see?

Light flashed and he looked at it, blinding himself again with the brightness of the blast. Okay, nothing was wrong with his eyes, it was just night. The booms came into focus now that he had a sense of his body. Something was still going on. He’d been out for hours. Cursing, he pushed himself to his feet and started to make his way back toward the base hoping that there weren’t any twitchy fingers on guard duty.

The bright light in his face was the next thing he could see.

“Where am I?”

“Captain Jones, do you remember what happened?” It was a woman’s voice. A nurse.

“Shit...” America sat up and then saw the look on her face. “Sorry, Miss, I, uh, gotta get back to command.” He tried to sit up, but his body wasn’t listening to his directions. Hands landed on his shoulders as an orderly appeared to try and keep him still.

“You’re not going anywhere right now. You collapsed on the beach still in your flight gear. You need to rest, the other boys can handle it,” the nurse said, her voice firm. He could hear the clink of the glass IV bottle near his head. The rest of the hospital started to come into focus, white walls, white uniforms, and carts of instruments. This wing was mostly empty, which America took as a good sign at first, but as his head cleared he could feel the ache in his bones of casualties. If they weren’t in the hospital that meant they were... He swallowed.

Voices called from the hallway, summoning the nurse and orderly and leaving America to his own devices. The bed springs creaked as he struggled to push himself up, straining to see the clock on the wall. Early afternoon... he’d been out since yesterday.

He focused on getting his feet on the floor. If he could get upright, he could stagger out of here and find out what was going on.

“The pretty girl told you to stay down.” The other resident of the ward was a few beds down, his head wrapped in a bandage covering his eyes. America couldn’t tell what had caused the injury behind the white.

“How’d you know she was pretty?” America asked, carefully pulling the IV needle from his arm with a wince. Now that he was sitting up he felt worlds better, at least that was what he was going to tell himself.

“They’re all pretty. And she’s got that cute Midwestern accent.”

America smiled. “Twin cities.”

“You from there?”

“No, but the girls are pretty. So was the nurse.”

“Knew it. Think I stand a chance?”

“You do have an advantage. Girls like a guy with scars.”

A smile tugged at the side of the wounded man’s face. “You don’t sound old enough to know that.”

“I’m older than I sound. Cover for me with the cute nurse will you?” He stumbled to the window and reached for the frame. It was a ground floor room, just a quick drop. Everyone would be too distracted to notice his hospital clothes until he got back to his bunk and put on his uniform.

An explosion rattled the windows and America braced himself on the frame. He couldn’t see much of what was going on from here, but the tell-tale boom of naval cannons and the hum of airplanes gave him a good idea. The fear and excitement that a battle stirred started to take root in him. His hands shook as he pushed open the frame.

“Be careful out there,” said the wounded man.

“Thanks. See you later.”

America dropped down into the grass and hurried back towards the fray. Japan wasn’t going to get a handle on him today, he was determined to stop it. Japan was going to have to go back to the drawing board again and again.

There weren’t enough drawing boards in the world.

The dash to the airstrip was a whir, fighters and bombers coming in and going out. Fewer planes coming back then left in the first place. He couldn’t think too much about that right now.

His world was engines, explosions, and the feeling of the firing button pressed under his finger until the day passed into night again.

***

_June 7, 1942_

_At Sea_

The mess hall was loud as sailors moved in and out. The cup of coffee was warm between America’s hands in the tin cup. Impatience and wearing adrenaline was making him twitchy, his foot tapping a tempo against the metal deck. He would have to wait for seconds at this point, and he was starving.

And their heading had definitely changed. He might not be as savvy on the water as England, but he’d been on enough ships to know when one was turning around.

Pushing up from his seat, America made his way to the bridge, offering smiles and congratulations to the sailors that he passed in the narrow corridors lit from fluorescent lights. It took a few salutes before he could find the captain. “Where are we going?” America asked.

“Admiral Spruance has ordered us to turn back. We’re not chasing them any further, it’ll just stretch out our supply lines and the ships need repairs. We won the day. We’ve made our point.”

America opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again after a moment. It would be a mess if they got surrounded, or ran out of supplies. Especially not with the Navy still suffering the losses from Pearl Harbor. The thought of that event made America feel hot under the collar, so much that he needed some air. With acknowledgment of the order, he headed back out onto the vast space of the flight deck on the aircraft carrier. Sometimes he still had to pause and admire the feat of engineering that had brought a ship large enough to launch planes from into existence. It was so big, it was sometimes easy to forget that he wasn’t on land.

Out of the way, America closed his eyes and felt the sea breeze on his face. The salty smell always made him think of England. He could picture another battleship, this one with England on it, on the other side of the world.

He clenched his fists. He’d promised England he wouldn’t be distracted. That he would focus on the fight that he was in.

And he’d won this round.

***

_Dear Arthur,_

_I kicked Kiku’s ass the other day. He thought he was going to be able to pull off another Pearl, I think, but I caught him. He probably thought whatever he was doing in the Aleutians would work, distract me or something... although that still pisses me off. He’s the first nation to invade me since you. I mean, the place he came in is up near Alaska in the middle of nowhere... but still._

_I can’t really say much more of what I want to say to you, but I can’t wait to hear your voice again. I hope you are feeling better and that some victories are starting to come your way. Maybe some of my awesomeness will rub off on you._

_I’ll bring you a pack of candy bars next time I see you. Look forward to it._

_Yours always,_

_Alfred_

***

_July 4, 1942_

_Dear Arthur,_

_I know that I probably shouldn’t be writing to you on my birthday, but as you haven’t called me back or answered any other form of message, I thought I’d try the old-fashioned way again. Calling me back would be great... heck, maybe you’ll call me before I finish this letter (but I won’t hold my breath)._

_I’m back home for right now. I thought about trying to see what’s going on in the Atlantic as an excuse to maybe see you, but I think my boss has banned me from east of the Mississippi. Not that he can really stop me, but things are complicated enough with my boss as it is. So, that’s why the postmark is from LA if you’re wondering._

_Anyway, things are going over here. One of these days I’m gonna get you out here for my birthday. I can wait a long time, you know. So, yeah, haven’t heard from you since I left London in May and would like something._

_Anyways, be safe, Arthur._

_Sincerely,_

_Alfred_

***

_August 21, 1942_

_Guadalcanal, British Solomon Islands_

_Aftermath of the Battle of the Tenaru_

The beach was white, lined with the thick vegetation of a tropical forest. Birds chattered in the trees, their voices coming back after the deafening sound of machine-gun fire. America sat down, dropping his gun next to him and pulling his knees to his chest. He buried his face against his legs, knowing that if he turned his face a little to the right he would see the carnage that had been impossible to see in the dark last night. He didn’t know how many dead soldiers lay on the sandbar. Groups, piles of them. Hundreds.

There had only been minutes since the warning came through over the radio, courtesy of a British Coastwatcher who could see the Japanese Army moving up the beach. Just enough time to dig into a makeshift bunker behind a machine gun. Then run for more ammunition... and it was all a blur.

And then the sun came up and showed that whatever unit had been sent against them was probably no more. Or if it wasn’t all of them, there were very few limping back to say what happened. Japan’s men had kept coming, convinced they were going to triumph.

And they didn’t.

Japan’s soldiers didn’t surrender.

He rubbed at the side of his face where the burn was already fading. He’d tried to help. Others had tried to help the wounded enemies, but they didn’t want help. It became just another opportunity to fight.

His own soldiers were scattered among them, victims of concealed hand grenades. Last shots fired from sidearms.

America lifted his hands to cover his ears, trying to drown out the muttering of the soldiers that were picking over the battlefield and the memory of the constant rattle of the machine guns and blasts from the mortars. He had to feel it. He’d always felt his battles, but there was something about this... Japan wasn’t fighting the way he expected.

And they’d barely started.

“Alfred.” The hand on his shoulder jolted him upright. “Sorry, mate, didn’t mean to...” Australia’s voice trailed off when he saw America’s face. The burn from the explosion must look worse than it felt. The boy’s brown hair fell over his forehead as he leaned over America, although he supposed he shouldn’t picture him like he’d been a century ago. A little boy that had been mucking up England’s garden and making Canada trip over himself trying to keep him out of trouble. That time was fuzzy though, the mid-19th century a haze with so much destruction.

“No, I’m fine. I just... needed a moment.” He pushed himself up, brushing the sand off his uniform. It didn’t do much good. The heat of the island seemed to make everything cling to his skin. It was nearly impossible to stay dry. Or clean. And he’d only been here for a little over two weeks. “Jett, I didn’t think you’d still be here.” He took in the younger nation who was starting to age out of the young teenager he’d been only a few years before. He was looking closer to America’s own age now, although he was still skinny. He reminded America of what Canada had looked like when he was still a colony and America had become a nation.

“With the transport ships moved off, I have to wait just like you do. We could try and get something to eat... we’ve still got more than coconuts.” He patted America on his shoulder and then stepped behind him to start herding him back towards camp, away from the death and the battlefield.

“Jett...” America said, once they were inside the trees, the bodies hidden from sight. America turned around and saw the other nation trying to keep his face together. He tried to push past America, but he caught him by the shoulders. Australia’s hands came up, fingers digging into his arms, as though he were unsure whether he wanted to shove him away or keep him close. “Are you thinking about Gallipolis?”

“It was a long time ago.”

“Not really. In the grand scheme of things.”

“I was smaller then.” The green eyes flashed away, looking into the trees.

“But the memories don’t really get old. I know what that feels like.” Australia sniffed, brow furrowing as he tried to keep the tears from falling. America pulled him into a one armed hug and Australia relaxed into his grip, the sniffling growing louder, but muffled against the front of his uniform.

“Does it get easier?”

“I hope not. I think when this gets easy, we lose ourselves. We become... I don’t know. I don’t know if I want to know what it feels like when it gets easy... I don’t know if I’d really be me anymore.”

Australia nodded, clutching America tighter as the waves of emotions crashed over him. America wanted to cry too, but he didn’t want Australia to see that. “I don’t want that to be me.”

“I’m going to make sure it isn’t.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“Not promising, telling. I’m damn sure gonna do my best. And my best is pretty great.”

Australia pulled away and offering a small smile. “You know, Arthur never shut up about you when I was a kid.”

Genuine surprise raised America’s eyebrows. “Really?”

“The first time I met you, I expected you to be some sort of mythical creature or something. You sounded too good to be true.”

Warmth settled in America’s stomach. “Yeah? So, am I?”

“Keep my island safe and I’ll let you know.”

America let out a small laugh, he couldn’t summon up any more than that. Not after last night. He shoved Australia playfully on the shoulder. “C’mon, let’s get something to eat and you can tell me all about what Arthur used to say about me when I couldn’t hear him.”

They walked back to camp side by side and America’s brow furrowed. He still hadn’t heard from England. He would write again. Maybe they just weren’t getting through the lines.

***

_Dear Arthur,_

_Please call me when you get this. Try to get a message to me so I can stop worrying. Jett’s been with me, but he said that he’s going to be coming back to the North African front soon. He said he hasn’t seen you in a while either. I’m getting worried here._

_Kiku is giving me a harder fight than I thought. And it’s unlike anything I can remember doing before. It... it makes me angry, Arthur. I’ve never felt like this... and damn... it’s like I’ve been at war forever with him and it’s not even a whole year yet. I really want to talk to you._

_Next time we see each other... I know that you’re not gonna want to talk and I’m probably going to be happy to let you not talk... at first. But we need to talk._

_Call me when you get this. Get a message through to me._

_Yours,_

_Alfred_

***

_October 9, 1942_

_Sydney, Australia_

America leaned back into the couch, stretching out his legs and looking past his socks at Australia’s parlor rug. It looked familiar, and America wondered if it was a hand me down from England. The whole room had a bizarre familiarity, even though he’d never been here before. It had clearly been at least partially decorated by England and then filled in at the fringes with Australia’s own taste. There were natural history objects on display on the mantle, crowded around an antique clock that America was pretty sure he recognized as once belonging to England’s country house half a century ago.

The modern conveniences crowded around the old bric-a-brac. America considered getting up to more closely examine the old musket that was shoved into the umbrella stand near the door, that was definitely from the 18th century, but he was loath to leave the soft comfort of the cushions. After sleeping on an army cot in the jungle for the better part of two months and then in a ship barrack... being in a normal house at all felt like a boon. The fight was in the wilderness, and he needed to get back to it soon, but he’d been asked to come and he came.

He was determined to stay awake, something New Zealand had given up on with the time difference after he’d come back from the African front. He was stretched out on a tattered chaise that seemed out of place, seeming completely unconcerned about the storm that was brewing in the hallway outside the parlor.

He could hear Australia pacing back and forth in the hallway where the phone hung on the wall. “Matt, is he really not going to come? I knew that you couldn’t... yeah, I know it’s important and it’s not his fault that I decided to finish this now... and...” Silence. America could assume the tone his brother’s voice had taken on the other end of the line. The maddening paternal voice when Canada was going to be reasonable despite the other party wanting unreasonable. Maybe it was because he was so close to the north pole, he could play it cool like no one else. Being one of the few nations that could make his brother slip up and get fiery, America could imagine how frustrating it was to the rest who’d never actually seen it.

It might have been the beer that he’d been drinking for the better part of two hours, but America shouted, “Tell Matt to tell Arthur that he better fucking write me back. He’s dropping the ball out here. Leaving us to our own devices!”

There was silence from the hallway for a second, then the stomp of a foot. “Al, Matt says he wants to talk to you.” Australia appeared in the doorway, the receiver wouldn’t reach.

America groaned, pushing himself up and immediately regretting it. He walked into the hallway. “I’ll take care of this,” America promised. “There’s plenty since your bro is passed out.”

“Then we can get this party started!” Australia grinned as he passed America back into the parlor. The resounding thud as he tipped New Zealand off the chaise echoed into the hallway as the two teased each other. America smiled and picked up the phone.

“You’re missing out, Matt. Your little brother finally ratified that goofy bill of Arthur’s that was about a century and a half too late for me.”

He could practically see the consternation through the phone. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Less than a keg, more than a few glasses.”

A metallic sigh. “You don’t think I want to be there for what is effectively him actually taking his independence? He won’t say it, but he was always worried about what it would mean to cut that tie with Arthur.”

“He’s fine, he’s got me. I’m closer anyway and I’m defending him just fine. We’re working on it.”

Silence. “Don’t hurt his feelings, Al.”

“What do you mean?”

More silence. “You know what I mean.”

“I’m pretty sure that I don’t. Stop being vague.”

“He’s been crushing on you for a few decades now.”

It was America’s turn to be silent as he turned his back to the parlor door where the radio had been turned up to some dance tune channel. “Oh. Really?”

A sigh. “Just don’t lead him on.”

Indignation flared in America’s chest. “Speaking of leading on, where the hell is Arthur? I can’t get through to him again and he won’t answer my letters.”

“It’s classified, Al.”

“Screw ‘classified’, he isn’t supposed to be keeping secrets from me anymore. That is literally the agreement!”

“Like you hand over all your intelligence.”

America considered refuting that, but he didn’t feel like giving Canada the satisfaction of calling him a hypocrite today. “Not when it concerns him.”

“Well, this doesn’t concern you.”

“Matt, forget the politics of it right now. I know Arthur, he wouldn’t want to miss celebrating Jett actually taking the steps. Even if he’d be upset about it. He was at your party. And you think you know what is between me and Arthur, but you don’t... so c’mon.”

“I can’t.”

“Then why did you even want to talk to me?”

“Because maybe I wanted to hear your voice. Ask how you are. Not argue about Arthur.”

“I’m fine, Matt.”

“It sounds like it’s rough out there.”

America pressed his lips together, wishing the buzz he was feeling from the beer was stronger. He leaned his forehead against the wall. “It’s war.”

“I know that.”

“It’s... do you remember how it was on the frontier? Wondering which direction the fight was going to come from? Always worrying about supplies.”

“It’s like that, huh?”

“Only no fort walls between you and them. And I’ve got a feeling it’s going to be this way for a while.”

“Are you okay?”

“Are any of us okay?”

“It’s not an existential question, Al.”

“I’d be better if Arthur would call me. Tell him that.”

“Al, I...”

“Al!” Australia’s weight slammed into the middle of his back. “Get off the phone! We’re going into town. Arthur can shove it.”

“I’ve got to go, Matt. Duty calls as a fill-in big brother.”

“Take care of yourself, Al.”

“You too.”

***

_Telegram sent late October 1942:_

_Arthur,_

_I hope whatever you’re doing is important._

_Call me._

_I look forward to seeing you when I get back there._

_Alfred._

***

_November 7, 1942_

_Off the Coast of French Morocco_

Leaning over the table, America checked the map one more time. It was a little late to be changing plans, but everything would be in motion tomorrow. They’d been given a pretty large cabin, and America looked up from the plans to the other nations at the table. Poland, whose spies had brought the information for the plan. Australia, who’d come along when he left the Pacific to rejoin his forces. And Canada, who hadn’t met his eye since they’d ended up on the same ship.

Notably missing from the dimly lit room was England.

America crossed his arms and started to pace, his footsteps sounding hollow on the deck. The others chatted, coffee cups and a few plates of food they’d hauled up from the mess sitting on the edge of the table. Australia yawned loudly, excusing himself to go to bed. America glanced down at his watch. They should all be getting sleep. It might be a few days before they’d be able to catch a quiet night’s sleep at all. Hopefully not longer.

It felt weird to be here. Considering that the last action he’d been in here was during the Barbary Wars when he was barely his own nation. When Sweden still towered over him, but saw him as an expedient naval ally to protect trade routes that pirates were bombarding.

When England wasn’t speaking to him. That part was familiar.

“Do you think Francis is going to be able to handle it?” America asked.

“He asked to be part of the plan. It’s his territory,” Canada said, a warning in his voice.

“But he has been, like,” Poland tilted his head, “Of two minds if we put it kindly. And he’s Francis.” Poland tapped the table like that detail in and of itself settled any argument that was about to erupt between the two North Americans.

“I’m just saying, it’s going to be a problem if he flips sides because he’s too close to his Nazi sympathizers.”

“He won’t.” Canada didn’t look certain, his eyes pleading for America to drop it. “You’re just riled up. You always get this way before an attack, you should lay off the cola.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.” America said, grabbing another bottle of the aforementioned beverage and taking a long draw. “And Arthur was supposed to be here.”

“This is, like, your offensive, remember? You’re going in and Arthur is ‘supporting’ so Francis’s people don’t get all riled up about being invaded by the British.” Poland waved his hand as if pointing out the details on a blackboard for a slow child. “He doesn’t need to be here.”

“No, he doesn’t need to... but I thought...” America clenched his jaw and covered the motion with another chug from his soda bottle.

“You thought he’d want to?” Poland asked.

“Feliks, don’t...” Canada warned.

“He was fighting with me over this operation! Now all of a sudden it’s just mine?” America glanced between the two. “What aren’t you telling me? Why can’t I get a hold of him?”

The noise of the ship swept into the silence as the two other nations in the room looked at each other. The sounds of footsteps and the sighing of engines. The sound of steam being released and the whir of a propeller.

“Why isn’t Arthur here? And it’s not because he doesn’t want to see me. So don’t even try it.”

“Determined, huh?” Poland smiled. “Maybe I can like you after all, Alfred. Arthur pined after a lot of dunces over the centuries, no offense Matthew.”

Canada’s mouth thinned, but it was the only hint of annoyance at Poland’s implication about France. “Al, you need to focus on tomorrow. The operation.”

“What did he do that he doesn’t want you to tell me. And if you say it’s ‘classified’ I will do something that is gonna make you do a lot more than frown, Matt.” His brother’s displeasure was already growing as he anticipated the move he’d clearly been about to play.

“He’s... well, he’s been behind enemy lines.”

“What!? How long!?”

“As soon as his wounds healed from the incident.”

America tossed the empty soda bottle he held in his hand to the floor, the glass shattering. “That fucking coward!”

“That’s uncalled for!” Poland groused, scooting his chair back from the pile of broken glass. “Arthur is doing something incredibly important for this war.”

“I’m not saying what he’s doing isn’t brave... but he couldn’t look me in the face and tell me what he was going to do.” America yanked out a chair and sat down in it, leaning his elbows on the table. “That fucking bastard.”

“He didn’t want you to try and stop him, eh? You know that you would have,” Canada said, his voice that infuriating softness he would use when he was trying to calm America’s nerves. It worked, sometimes. Not today. America shook his head, thoughts racing.

“Wait.” He lifted his head and Canada’s eyes grew wide. “That doesn’t explain why there’s no messages. If he’s getting information out. That means someone is talking to him. Matt, I fucking asked you to tell him I wanted to hear from him.”

Canada’s gaze dropped and he fidgeted in his seat. “It’s, um, Alfred...”

“What your brother is trying to say is that we haven’t, like, well, heard from Arthur in quite a while.” Poland tucked a lock of hair behind his ear, trying to act nonchalant.

“And no one has gone looking for him! What if he’s captured!?”

“If Ludwig or Feliciano had gotten a hold of him we’d have heard about it. There is, like, no way they would sit on that brag. Especially with the fireworks we’re seeing right here. The last thing the Allies need is you doing something impulsive.”

“I’m not impulsive.” The other two stared at him.

“Like, your entire history is impulsive, starting from you declaring independence from Arthur.”

“That wasn’t an impulse. That was... I don’t have time to explain it. I need to go after him, where was he last?”

“Nope, not until after we get troops on that beach. Or rather you get troops on that beach.” Poland gave Canada a meaningful look and America could see the locks being thrown on that information.

“You’re not serious.”

“Dead serious. This is one of Arthur’s goals that you agreed to. If you want to face Ludwig, this is the first real battlefield. You’re not the only one with a lover who is missing, so do what you have to do.” The flippant tone was gone from Poland’s voice and for a moment America could see how old he was, a nation that lived through things America had only ever read about.

America stared at him, hoping that the wall would crack. It didn’t. He frowned. “Fine. But when we’ve taken the objectives you two are telling me where he was last seen. He’s getting on this battlefield with me.”

“A whole other can of worms...” Poland muttered.

“Do we have a deal or not?”

“There’s nothing to negotiate, you _have_ to do this.” Poland was still in his chair, a vast change from the usually flighty man.

“I just want to know where Arthur might be.”

“I’ll share the intelligence with you, Al,” Canada said, Poland shooting him a dirty look.

“We could hold this over him for a while.”

“No, we’re not,” Canada said.

“In that case, I’m going to get some beauty sleep.” Poland huffed, pushing out of his chair and leaving the room.

Canada stood, rubbing his hands on the trousers of his navy uniform. “I’ll tell you after the battle. There’s nothing you can do about it right now anyway.” He turned to walk out of the room towards his berth as well.

“Matt...”

“What?”

“Don’t lie to me about Arthur anymore. If I had information about Francis... I would tell you. Even if he made me promise.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know that we’ve historically sucked at this... but can you be on my side as a brother, even if we don’t always see eye to eye as nations?”

Canada paused by the door, looking at him as though there might be a catch to his words. “I...” His mouth closed and whatever thoughts were on the tip of his tongue became completely silent.

America sighed. “Forget it. Good night. Make sure I don’t get blown to pieces on that beach, okay? That’d be a pain in the ass.” He offered him a smile and Canada nodded, fleeing from the room and leaving America alone. He lay his head down on the table.

_Damn you, Arthur. I’m coming to get you and then we’re finally going to do this together._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! We love reading your comments!

**Author's Note:**

> *dramatic music* We are here at last! World War II is shaping up to be even more ambitious than some of the other periods we have covered in this story so far (simply because there is so much information and there were so many fronts). We're going to do our best to cover this time period and stay close to the relationships that we've been developing throughout the series. 
> 
> We're so glad that you have come so far with us! We started this series in 2016 (we can't believe it!) and we've still got quite a ways to go! Thank you for coming on this journey for one more round (and probably the most words yet)!
> 
> Fun fact: The title comes from one of Churchill's speeches when he is telling the people of Britain and France to stay hopeful.


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